


Pacify Part 5: Safety

by Chickenpets



Series: Pacify [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Art, BDSM, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Harry Potter, Choking, Consensual sexual violence, Consent, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pacifyverse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rebuilding, Safewords, Sex Magic, Top Severus Snape, True Love, Trust, so much consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 99,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets
Summary: NOW WITH ART!Safety:1. The condition of being protected from or unlikely to cause danger, risk, or injury2. A device designed to prevent inadvertent or hazardous operation“So…” Harry paused. “We’re a couple, and… you’re my… partner.”“Oh, yes.” Severus started kissing a trail up Harry’s body, speaking against his skin. “Devoted. Faithful.” He could feel Harry’s heartbeat under his mouth, and it sped up just a little. And he liked that… rather a lot.“And… we don’t have to hide anymore?”“Not ever again.”***Aka: the After
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Pacify [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595650
Comments: 2029
Kudos: 1606





	1. Veterans

**Author's Note:**

> Pacify One-shots and Au's  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786204
> 
> Pacify Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0rf51eMOz60O5WLQLlJJ40?si=lumjtZAaQLCYUBQJmwzVBw
> 
> Pacify Doodles:  
> https://www.deviantart.com/chickenpets

“That might be my first ever _‘gold,’_ from you,” Severus laughed. “What an honor.”

“Oh, no,” Harry answered. “You get gold a lot. You just don’t usually ask for my color after I’m all…”

“Sated?” Severus shifted onto his side to run his fingers over Harry’s skin. He was still much too thin to look entirely healthy, and he was rather battered, too. He was bruised, and scraped, and pale, and, of course, beautiful. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, arching up a little into his touch. “Mm. This is what I wanted at Shell Cottage, you know. This part. Wanted it _so bad.”_ He sighed. “Just about drove me insane with just your _hands_ like that. Couldn’t see you, or hear your voice, or _anything.”_

“Shell Cottage?” Severus asked, brushing the pad of his index finger over a particularly deep-looking bruise on his side. It was just under his floating rib, and about the size of an apple. Like he’d been punched. Who had done that?

And were they already dead?

“My safehouse,” Harry answered. “On the coast. Bill and Fleur’s place.” 

“Ah.” Severus circled the mark with his finger, and Harry lifted his arm to see what he was touching. “Did someone hit you?”

“Oh, I dunno. It was chaos. Maybe?”

Severus dipped his head to kiss the spot. “May I heal it?” he asked. 

“Did you give it to me?” Harry asked back.

“No.”

“Then you can heal it.”

Severus took up his wand. _“Senatio,”_ he said, and it faded, and he moved to another, lower on his side, and then caressed the healed skin with his thumb. “You’re quite something, you know,” he mused.

“Hm?” Harry murmured. 

“I thought I wanted you in Ravenclaw Tower. After you burned those wands,” Severus continued, moving to a raw patch of skin on his elbow. _“Consilio.”_ It vanished. “I thought that was more _wanting_ than I could bear.” He propped himself up on one arm to hover over him, and Harry stayed still and watched as he healed another bruise, and then a scattering of small burns near his navel. Sparks from his shields, maybe. Those incredible shields. “I was so… naive.” 

“What are you on about?” Harry asked, reaching his arms over his head in a luxurious stretch as Severus finished with one last patch of raw, reddened skin.

“Every time I think I’ve reached the limit of my love for you,” Severus continued, pressing a kiss to his sternum, and then his chest. “The depths of my _desire_ for you, you prove me wrong. I thought I knew you. I thought I knew your power. Your bravery, your strength, your kindness…” He glanced up at the underside of Harry’s jaw where two suck-marks were developing nicely. “I had no idea. And not just your magic, either, though that certainly shocked me. Not just your healings, or your barriers, or whatever golden cage saved me from the killing curse.” Harry tilted his head a little to look down at him. “Harry. I have never in my life seen anything like you _laughing_ in the Dark Lord’s _face.”_

“You laughed, too,” Harry said, giving him an opaque look.

“Did I?” Severus asked.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, and then glanced over at Severus’ arm braced beside him. Severus followed his gaze to see a fresh red blotch in the center of his bandage. He supposed he must have irritated the wound grabbing the headboard. Or Harry’s shirt. Or his hair. Or… some other part of him. “Can I heal that?” Harry asked, reaching out to touch the dark stain. “Now that I’m not… y’know. Gone forever.”

“No,” Severus answered simply.

Harry frowned at him. “But… it’s bleeding.”

“Yes it is. And it was a gift, and I’m keeping it. And we are _unbelievably_ late for dinner.”

 _“Dinner.”_ Harry flopped onto his back. “Fucking _hell._ Back to the bloody Great Hall.”

“Language.” 

“Oh, right, like you don’t appreciate profanity,” Harry scoffed, but then he sighed. “How many people will be there, do you think?”

“Oh, not many, I expect,” Severus answered, running his fingertips over the jutting lines of Harry’s ribs. That would be his first project, now. Restoring Harry to full radiance. It would take many good meals, and many months, and much coaxing, he was sure, but that did not trouble him. He would relish every opportunity to give Harry the things he deserved. The food, and sleep, and love, and gifts. The protection, and affection, and devotion. The time and resources to heal, if he could provide them. And the smaller things, too. Tea in the morning, new clothes, toiletries, and books, if he wanted them. And an abundance of physical touch, of course. Whatever he wanted, and whatever he would accept. “Likely just the staff, and the Order. Maybe a few others if they had nowhere to go. Draco and Narcissa. Your friends, I should think.” 

“Do I really have to go?” 

Severus stilled his fingers. 

Harry could probably just refuse. Just give Minerva two fingers and lock himself in the Dungeons. And Severus would let him, too, if that was what he really wanted. But it would cause trouble. People would hammer on the door. People would assume Severus was forcing him - _hiding him._ It would be better to present themselves now, while the euphoria of victory was still thick in the air. Who could deny Harry his uncommon lover with the blood still drying in the corridors? While the healed were still weeping in wonderment?

“No, I don’t suppose you _have_ to do much of anything,” he began slowly. “But it is my belief that the more obvious we make our intentions now, the more fully we will be permitted to vanish from society, later.” He kissed the rib he was touching. “Which I foresee being your wish, now that you’ve started a religion.”

Harry brushed Severus’ hair back from where it was tickling him, a little furrow in his brow. “What intentions?” 

“To stay together, of course,” Severus answered, and Harry frowned a little more, fingering a lock of his ink-black hair. 

“Is that why you kissed me like that?” he asked after a moment. “In front of everyone? I was wondering. It seemed… out of character.”

“I hardly allow the whims of the masses to dictate my behavior, Harry,” Severus answered. “You of all people should know that. I kissed you in front of everyone because I wanted to kiss you, and everyone happened to be there. Very rude of them to intrude on my explosion of affection for you.”

“So…” Harry paused. “We’re a couple, and… you’re my… partner.”

“Oh, yes.” Severus started kissing a trail up Harry’s body, speaking against his skin. “Devoted. Faithful.” He could feel Harry’s heartbeat under his mouth, and it sped up just a little. And he liked that… rather a lot. 

“And… we don’t have to hide anymore?”

“Not ever again.”

There was a silence, and when Harry spoke, Severus realized that at least part of his increased heart rate was anxiety, and he liked it a little less.

“Am I dreaming?” Harry asked. There was a little quaver in his voice, and Severus looked up to see him staring quite blankly at the ceiling. 

“Just now?” he asked, wondering if he should press his trigger point for him.

“...yeah,” Harry said slowly. “Is this… y’know. Not real.”

“It is real,” Severus answered. “You are not dreaming, and neither am I. Though I understand the sentiment very well. I feel I may have even had this dream, specifically. Though as I recall, you were slightly less… singed.” He was trying for a laugh but didn’t get one. Not even a smile. Harry’s voice stayed soft and unsteady.

“If I was dreaming… that would make sense.”

“More sense than being in bed with me, now?” Severus asked, and at the expression on Harry’s face, kissed him, and took up his left arm. “Count for me, please.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked once at the ceiling, and then turned to look at him. “One, two, three, four, five,” he said, and Severus released the point, and Harry blinked again like there had been something in his eyes. “Oh. Thanks… I think I was…”

“Outside your body?” Severus asked. “Yes. But I can’t fault you too much for it. This,” he gestured between the two of them, naked on the bed. “Has always been incredibly unlikely. And yet, you have continued to return to me, again and again, Despite all the terrible things I’ve done.” He leaned down to mouth at the smooth skin of Harry’s throat, and the delicate bones of his clavicle. “You have always returned. Even from death.” He bit down gently, and Harry shifted underneath him with a little sigh. “I’m your keeper, Harry. And your lover, and yes, your partner, no matter how bizarre it will seem to the outside world. Let them scoff and flail and protest to their heart’s content. You are mine, and you are not dreaming, and I plan to court you quite publicly, now that I’m able.”

“It’s a little late for courtship, isn’t it?” Harry asked, and in his tone Severus could hear the fear ebb, and a little breath of laughter replace it. That was better. “You just fucked me into next week.”

“Oh, no, it’s never too late for romance,” Severus murmured. “How do you feel about picnics?”

“Picnics,” Harry chuckled. “You are a very complicated man.”

“Mm.” Severus kissed one of the marks he’d left on his neck, and scraped his teeth over it. “So are you. Many layers.”

“Well, I - ah - suppose I’d better get dressed, then. If you’re going to be… publicly… courting me.” Harry sounded breathless, now, so Severus bit down more firmly, wanting him to squirm. Which he did. “Severus - you - aren’t making this very easy.” 

“I’m obstructionist by nature,” Severus answered. “Difficult, and oppositional, and very stubborn.” He lifted his head again, and kissed him on the mouth. “And yes, we’d better get dressed, lest a search party be sent for you. I’d like you to be wearing trousers, at least. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea that our relationship is… inappropriate.” 

“Ha,” Harry laughed. “Oh, wait. I don’t… have any clothes. Everything I had was with Hermione when we came to the school. If she even still has her magic bag.” He frowned. “I… guess I could wear what I fought in.” 

“I vanished that set, actually,” Severus answered. “They were quite damaged. But I still have a fair amount of your clothes in my closet. Don’t tell Minerva that I took them off of you while you were a _student.”_

“You have a student’s trousers in your closet? Disgraceful,” Harry laughed again, but then stopped laughing, and frowned again. Severus supposed mood swings were to be expected. “Do you really still have all my clothes? I thought maybe you would have - I dunno. Tossed them out. I was gone for a long time.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I really must do a better job at expressing my absolute, wretched devotion to you, idiot boy.” He sat up. “It’s an _obsession._ I have every stitch of clothing I have ever stripped off of you. I have your cactus, and your snake, and your chess set, and your scars, and now I have you. A complete set, at long last. Up, now. If you don’t eat you’ll faint.”

***

The Dungeons were relatively undamaged, and as they walked them together, Harry began to doubt the extremity of his own memories. Had there really been such destruction? He felt that there had been, but the halls they passed through seemed intact. The Dungeon was just the same as it had been the night he’d crept down to Severus’ quarters under his cloak to be beaten with a belt and sucked off for the first time. Maybe his memories really were wrong. They were unclear, anyway. Fractured into unrelated images and smears of sound and sensation. The Room of Requirement, the explosion, and the trip to the shack reduced to weirdly simple pictures in his mind, painted in primary colors. Draco, on the floor, with blood running down his face. Hermione screaming at Ron, the Dementors swarming, the chilling crawl through the tunnel to the shack. And then calling and calling and calling for Severus, and waking up on a table. 

So… maybe it hadn’t been that bad?

But then they reached the border between the Dungeons and the main castle, and he saw that he had not remembered incorrectly. The Dungeons were just underground, and so had been spared. 

Above ground, the corridors of Hogwarts were scattered with rubble, and riddled with holes. There were piles of broken glass in every corner, and scorch-marks on every wall. It was a battlefield if it was anything at all, and Harry was immediately struck with the strangeness of the lack of carnage. No bodies, no blood, no torn bits of clothes or clots of hair. He supposed the survivors had been busy all day cleaning it up. And then he didn’t think much of anything at all as the first scream rent the quiet, and his heart stopped in his chest.

As soon as he heard the noise, Severus seized Harry around the waist and dragged him back against his body.

“It’s the portraits,” he said into Harry’s ear, holding him tight against his chest as he tried to bolt. “It’s the portraits, it’s alright. It’s the portraits.” He found Harry’s hand and pressed into his trigger point, hard, and when he stopped struggling, turned on the paintings with a slightly different tone. “USE YOUR BLOODY BRAINS!” he bellowed. “MERLIN. What are you trying to do, trigger a fatal aneurysm? Be _QUIET!”_

Shocked, the paintings started frantically shushing each other and flapping their hands.

“Sorry,” the portrait closest to them whispered, and around her the others followed suit, cringing and grimacing and apologizing and waving and blowing kisses. Or in the case of one painting of a jaunty farmhand, rather dramatically bursting into tears and hiding his face with a bucket. 

“My god,” Severus scoffed. “Idiots.” He turned Harry around in his arms, and searched his eyes. “Any spots? Sparkles?”

“Oh…” Harry blinked hard. “No. I - I think I’m ok. Do I look ok?”

_No._

“You look as blindingly lovely as always,” Severus answered, and the weeping farmhand made a strangled noise and cried harder. Severus rolled his eyes. “Look, you’re so beautiful you’re ruining the lives of inanimate objects.” Harry laughed weakly, and Severus cupped his cheek, and then turned towards a painting of a knight on a svelte-looking stallion. “Sir. Guiscard. If you please. Tell the rest of the artwork not to shout unless they want to be responsible for a fucking _explosion.”_

“Yes, Professor Snape!” The knight answered at once, raising his sword and giving his steed a kick. “Onward!” Severus watched him pass out of frame, and then took Harry’s hand. 

“Shall we proceed?” he asked. “Or would you like a moment to bask in the first of what will surely be many hysterical crowds?”

“I hate everything you just said,” Harry answered, and looked down the corridor at the many portraits still to pass. “Can I go back for my cloak?”

“I could go ahead and call you,” Severus offered. “But it might be easier to just get it all over and done with, now. You’ve already been shocked by the foolishness once. Why waste the heart attack?”

“Yeah… ok.”

They went on, and though Harry was quite clutching his hand, there were no more surprises. The statues were mostly missing from their plinths, and Sir Guiscard seemed to have stayed well ahead of them, as all the other portraits they passed just waved or said good evening. Or dissolved into tears, of course. But no shouting.

The closer they got to the Great Hall, the more damage seemed to have been repaired. The windows were whole again, for the most part, at least, and most of the holes in the stone walls were patched. It looked almost normal, like the Dungeons had, and Harry was just getting the weird feeling that he was going to a regular dinner with his housemates when the noises coming out of the Great Hall reached him, and he stopped short. They were not normal noises. It was more like… a party. Or a… riot. 

“That sounds like more than just the staff and Order,” Harry said, his eyes wide. “I… do not want to go in there.”

“Yes it does, and neither do I,” Severus answered. “But alas, we must present ourselves for scrutiny.” He squeezed Harry’s hand. “Can’t very well be worse than waltzing into the Dark Lord’s base camp, now, can it?”

Harry just laughed uncomfortably. “No… I guess not.” He took one step and then stopped again. “What if they try to make us sit at different tables?”

Severus stopped, too, and took Harry’s face in his hands. “Harry,” he said. “If they try to make us sit at separate tables, we refuse. If they try to make us sit at opposite ends of _one_ table, we refuse. If they try to separate us at all, we refuse. I love you, and they know it, and that’s all, alright?”

Harry frowned. “Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that,” Severus answered. “No more secrets. No more hiding. Just you, and me, and that’s all.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered.

They pushed open the doors. 

“And THEN!” Hagrid bellowed over his bucket of firewhisky. “HE SAID-” He was sitting near the center of one of the house tables, holding forth over what did, indeed, appear to be the entire staff and most of the Order, plus Ron, Hermione, Charlie and Bill, Neville and his Grandmother, Aberforth, and the Malfoys. “HE SAID - _‘gonna KILL me, or are we just having a CHAT?’”_

“No!” Professor Trelawney gasped, covering her mouth. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Harry breathed.

“He DID!” Hagrid insisted. “And he said _You Know Who’s_ nose was GROSS! And - and - and - and when _You Know Who_ asked if he really wern’t afraid he said-” He held out his massive arms, and his rapt audience fell silent. “He said - _‘YUP.’”_

There was a collective gasp of horror and awe, and Severus turned to look at Harry standing frozen beside him. “You didn’t say that.” Harry just grimaced.

“AND!” Hagrid continued. “He WINKED AT ME! Bloody LEGEND!!”

“LEGEND!” Ron bellowed, raising his goblet. “That’s my MATE! He takes no SHIT! Not from _anyone.”_

“BLOODY _LEGEND,”_ Charlie howled, slamming his fist onto the table, and Draco collapsed into laughter against his mother’s shoulder.

“Fuck _me_ what a mad bastard,” he wheezed. “Bollocks the size of a _house.”_

“They must be hammered,” Severus muttered, and Professor Sprout caught sight of them in the doorway.

“Boys!” she cried with a wave. “You’re late!!”

Everyone turned to look at them and a roar went up, along with about thirty raised glasses. 

“HARRY!”

“SEVERUS!”

“OI!”

“LEGENNNND!”

“Well. Into the fray, shall we?” Severus hissed, pulling Harry forward by the hand. There were two seats open near the end of the table next to Professor Sprout, and she waved, so he aimed for those. “So sorry to be tardy,” he said, pulling out Harry’s chair for him before sitting himself. “We got a bit… sidetracked.”

“Bet you did,” Ron cackled, and Harry flushed.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded him.

“What? Look at him! He’s all covered with… uh…” he trailed off and then turned red, too, and Draco exploded in breathless giggling, and dropped his head onto the table.

“He hasn’t even had that much,” Narcissa said, frowning at her son as he shook silently beside her. 

“Give Harry more than one, and he’ll be just as bad,” Severus answered, glancing at Ron refilling his goblet. “They’re quite depleted.”

Hagrid slammed his enormous cup down on the table. “Tell the story, Harry!” he demanded jovially. “Tell the story!! You had the Dark Lord on his bloody _toes.”_ He guffawed. “Incredible! Bloody _mad._ MAD!”

“Oh,” Harry squeaked, shrinking back against Severus’ side. “Can I get drunk too, or is all the alcohol gone?” Five full goblets were thrust over to him, and Severus took three of them away. 

“We have a meeting,” he whispered. “Just one.” Harry took the cup he was offered and looked into it.

“Can I get drunk after the meeting?” 

“Oh, yes. I think you should.”

“Oi!” Bill called from between Charlie and Professor Sinistra. “Did you really tell the Dark Lord his _nose_ was _gross?”_

“I heard him say it,” Narcissa answered. _“Shocking.”_

“What else did he say?” Aberforth asked. He seemed almost as drunk as Hagrid and Ron, and Hermione gave Harry a little grimace. She was between them, looking rather squashed, and very sober. 

“Well, he said he _stole_ the Dark Lord’s right hand man,” Narcissa began, her eyes alighting on Severus. “Which he obviously has. And he said my son looks ‘great’ with a black eye.”

“A face like that?” Charlie asked. “Of course he does.” Draco choked on a mouthful of wine and started to cough. 

“Alright everyone, calm down,” Minerva said loudly, but Hagrid did not seem to hear her.

“Bloody _legend,”_ he hiccoughed. “Thought he was a goner for sure.” 

“I always knew he’d survive,” Trelawney slurred from beside him, swirling her glass like it might have omens inside it. “It was in the _stars.”_

“I thought he was going to DIE HORRIBLY,” Ron interjected, but Hermione shushed him, and he dropped his voice to a surly grumble. _“Just diieeeeee horribly fifty times a year! I swear…”_

“The stars,” Hagrid repeated, wrapping one massive arm around her. “The _stars.”_ He started to weep, and then Sibyll did too, burying her face in his great coat. 

“My goodness, you two,” Minerva scolded them. “What time did you start drinking? Noon?”

“Can we leave?” Harry whispered to Severus.

“No. You need to eat.”

“Can’t Kreacher just bring me a loaf of bread or something?”

“A loaf of bread is not a meal,” Severus answered. “Though he might send us a bottle of champagne later tonight, if you like. You can drink it with a straw. Give me your hand.” Harry did, and Severus pressed his trigger point again. “You’re alright. Just a dinner.”

“Right. Yeah. Just a dinner.”

“FINALLY!” Aberforth exclaimed as food began to appear on the large platters before them. “We were waiting ages for the bloody _lovebirds._ Couldn’t have made it on time, could ya?”

“So sorry,” Severus said again, his voice flat. “We’ve been apart for weeks. Priorities, you know.” Aberforth snorted and looked away, and Slughorn choked on the air, and, satisfied with their discomfort, Severus set to filling Harry’s plate. First roast chicken and new potatoes, then bread with butter, green beans almondine, and a sort of cold salad with quartered sprouts. Reaching for that, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Harry eating that sort of dish. “Any objection to sprouts?” he asked quietly, and Harry frowned at his plate and then up at Severus himself. 

“No objection,” he said slowly, and Severus took up the tongs. “But… is this how it’s going to be now? You pulling out my chair, and serving me and stuff?” 

Severus paused. “Do you mind it?”

“No.”

“Then yes, that’s how it’s going to be.” He gave Harry a generous serving of the salad and replaced the platter before continuing in a low voice. “You’re mine, and I plan to dote on you so flagrantly that everyone is very uncomfortable and annoyed.” His eyes flicked over the others to see Minerva, Slughorn, Mrs. Longbottom, Neville, Aberforth, Narcissa, Madam Hooch and Flitwick all watching them with varying levels of interest or disapproval. “Just… _disgusted_ by the depth and breadth of my devotion to you.”

“Oh.” Harry followed his gaze. “Should I kiss you, then?” 

“Should?” Severus asked, and Harry’s lips twitched.

“I meant _can I._ Can I kiss you? Just… at the table?” He blushed. Very charming. Particularly against the marks on his neck, which were still darkening.

“I think I’d rather enjoy it, actually,” Severus answered, and Harry slid one hand under his hair to tug him forward. 

“I TOLD YOU,” Neville said loudly as their lips met. “You never believe me!”

“Well,” his grandmother scoffed. “Usually you’re _wrong,_ aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know that your grandson had the highest Herbology OWL scores in recorded history,” Professor Sprout said loftily, waving her fork, as Hagrid exploded back into weeping. “Off the scale! I thought it was a math error, at first. _Phenomenal.”_

 _“He pulled out his chair!”_ Hagrid said in a strangled and very loud whisper, and Trelawney embraced his elbow, sobbing something about spring and autumn and war into his clothes, and Harry pulled back with a laugh. 

“This is mad,” he said.

“Mm,” Severus agreed, patting Harry’s cheek and turning towards his plate. “Eat.”

They ate, and drank, and as the bottles of wine continually refilled themselves, Ron began regaling the table with their exploits through the castle, and Harry tried hard to withhold the urge to flee from the room. He didn’t remember _half_ of what Ron was saying. But he’d been busy, apparently. And _cursing._

“And then he just yelled ‘FUCK OFF,’ and they DID! Ran head-first into the wall!” Ron slapped his hands together. “CRUNCH! And GREYBACK! Good Lord…”

“Causing mayhem all night, were you?” Severus whispered, pouring him another half-glass and then topping off his own. 

“You know me,” Harry answered. 

“A source of pure chaos.”

Harry gave a little hum of assent, and took a restrained sip. He did, of course, rather wish he could drink a whole bottle. But Severus was right. If he was drunk at the meeting there would probably just be _another_ meeting. If he was going to convince McGonagall that he was in control of his own faculties, he had to be at least relatively sober. And he had to be sharp to fight with her, too, if her attitude at Severus’ door had been anything to go by.

Harry sighed, and leaned his temple against Severus’ shoulder, reveling in the surreal pleasure of being able to touch him. And in public, too. Before the tent, he’d never dared even hope for such a thing, and here he was, sitting at dinner in the Great Hall, with his head on Severus’ shoulder. He glanced at Ron gesticulating wildly with his glass and spilling wine onto the tablecloth, and then his eyes slid over to McGonagall beside him. She looked pretty disgruntled, but he couldn’t tell if it was Ron’s drunkenness or Severus’ affection that was annoying her. Probably it was both. 

“And then _this_ mad witch CLOBBERED him with a crystal ball!” Ron continued, pointing at Trelawney. She started giggling girlishly. “Right in the head! _DEAD.”_

“He was dead,” Harry said quietly. “Big dent in his skull. I saw it.”

“A fitting end for that fiend,” Severus answered.

“And DRACOOOO MALFOY,” Ron hooted. “Shoulda seen it. Grabbed his own mate's leg to keep him from _crucioing_ Harry.” He raised his glass at Draco, who turned pink. “Disarmed the other one, too. Bloody brilliant. Got kicked right in the _face_ for it.”

“See! That’s why I figured it was _Draco!”_ Neville said. “I saw them running around together.”

“Figured what was Draco?” Ron asked.

“Oh. Um. Y’know…” Neville glanced at Severus and then looked at his plate. “Harry’s uh…”

“LOVER?” Bill supplied loudly. 

Draco flushed further. “Me?” he spluttered, and then made a valiant attempt at a contemptuous sneer. “Pff. You _wish,_ Potter!”

“I do not wish that,” Harry whispered, and Severus laughed. 

“I think Draco might,” he replied under his breath. “I think everyone in the room fell in love with you at the end, there. Including the Deatheaters. Pity they were all so terribly late in realizing how blindingly attractive you are.”

Harry scoffed, but then his eye caught on something, and he gave Severus a little nudge. “Oh, look at Charlie,” he muttered, and Severus turned to see the specified Weasley looking at Draco with a rather notable glint in his eye. “Haha. Oh no.”

“Hm,” Severus said. 

“Draco was really brave,” Hermione added, obviously trying to steer the conversation away from Harry and Severus. “Turning right in the middle of the battle like that. I would have been dead in that room if not for him.” Draco gave her an unsure sort of smile, and she returned it. “He saved me. Luna, too.”

“A true credit to our house!” Slughorn cut in. 

“Nah he turned _ages ago,”_ Ron said, waving his hand dismissively. “Tell your MUM how you let us out of the cellar, Draco! Tell her!” He paused. “Sorry about that body-bind curse, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Times of war,” she responded, with a polite tilt of her head.

“Oh. Um… have Harry tell how he knocked me out,” Draco countered, looking askance at his mother, and all the eyes turned back to Harry.

“Just - sorta - decided to,” he said. “That’s kind of how it works. I just decide to do stuff and it happens.”

“Makes NO BLOODY SENSE AT ALL,” Hagrid bellowed. He seemed to have recovered from his spate of weeping and had returned to raucous enthusiasm. Trelawney was still sniffling. “DO US ONE!”

“Yeah!” Bill agreed. “Decide something!”

“Magic! Magic!” Aberforth cried, and then Ron and Hagrid took up the chant, drumming on the table. “Magic! Magic! Magic!”

Harry grimaced, and Severus slammed his fork down. “Be QUIET!” he barked, and everyone fell silent at once. “Harry is not a _circus animal.”_

“Ooooooooh,” Draco whispered. _“Harry is not a circus animal…”_

“No, um… it’s ok,” Harry answered, laying his hand over Severus’ where it was white-knuckled around his cutlery. At his touch, it relaxed minutely. “I can do something, if you want. I’m tired, but I’m not that tired.” He raised his hands. “Hm. Let’s see…” 

A gigantic bouquet of fragrant white flowers exploded out of his hands like a botanical firework. 

“Merlin’s PANTS,” Professor Sprout yelped, slopping wine into her lap. “Are those plumeria?” 

“Wow!” Neville said, leaning over the table to get a better look. “Look at those stems! Plumeria don’t even _have_ stems like that. How did you…?”

“It’s a whole tree’s worth!” Professor Sprout continued, and then when Harry put the lot into Severus’ hands: “Aww, look.”

“What is this, a wedding?” Aberforth demanded. “Explode a killing curse again! Heal something!! _Flowers…”_

“I saw those in my magic,” Harry said quietly, giving Severus a furtive smile. “Overkill?” Severus’ mouth twitched, and he withdrew his wand.

“You know how much I like it when you create,” he said, conjuring a large cut-crystal vase and filling it with water. “There we are.” He set the flowers inside it and then levitated the arrangement into the very center of the table, which happened to be directly in front of Minerva’s face. Then he leaned over to whisper.

“They’re beautiful,” he began, ghosting the very tip of his nose against the shell of Harry’s ear. “And let me ask you this - have you any idea how long I’ve dreamt of sitting beside you at meals? Or… taking you to a restaurant? Or even being allowed so much as a conversation with you where other people might see?” 

Harry felt his face heat. Severus had never mentioned anything like that. “No…” he said. “How long?”

“Since all those _students_ were pestering you for an invitation to Horace’s insipid Christmas party,” Severus answered in a low murmur. “I thought of it watching you demolish a platter of chocolates, shirtless on my sofa - how desperately I wanted everyone to know that you were mine. I had you twice that night. And on the floor, too. I trust you remember.” He laid one hand on Harry’s thigh under the table. “So do as you like. I’m living my most outlandish fantasies as we speak, and I guarantee you cannot ruin it by being _too affectionate.”_ He dropped his voice still further. “And I must confess, though I’m sure you’re quite exhausted, I have a sudden and mighty need to have you again.” A shiver ran through Harry’s body. “Mm. I imagine you’re still tingling. Can you still feel me inside you?”

Harry dropped his hands into his lap and slid one finger into his sleeve, and when Severus felt his bracelet warm, he looked down at his own. 

_[If you’re trying to get me hard again it’s working really well]_ appeared, and Severus scored his nails gently against the seam of Harry’s jeans.

“I know it is.”

Minerva glared at the flowers and leaned around them to glare at Severus, too, only to see the pair of them whispering together like newlyweds, and Harry turn bright pink.

“Well that’s certainly… bold,” Slughorn said quietly. “What do you think he’s saying?”

“I’ve no idea,” Minerva answered tersely.

Slughorn frowned and took a swig of his wine. “You know, I always was concerned with how much detention that boy was assigned. Far too much detention to be appropriate. Far too much… He never attended a single one of my parties.” He looked morosely at his plate. “Not one.”

  
  



	2. An Appropriate and Platonic Friendship

The dinner plates were cleared, and puddings appeared. Chocolate gateau, apple pie, glazed fruit, and then, directly in front of Harry’s seat, a treacle tart the size of a wagon wheel with what looked like a lightning bolt and two circles emblazoned on it in short-crust pastry.

“Look, it's your HEAD!” Ron burst out, pointing at the tart. “Ahahahahaa…” 

“Drink some water,” Hermione hissed. “My goodness.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Charming.” Severus cut a generous slice for him and topped it with a dollop of cream. “Treacle tart is your favorite, I take it.” 

Harry looked down at the slice. “This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said. 

“That’s quite a high bar.”

“Yeah…” He squinted at the tart and then at Severus. “Are you  _ sure _ I’m not actually unconscious in the Hospital Wing?”

“The Hospital Wing is not in service at the moment,” Severus answered blandly. “And I assure you, you are in fact sitting beside me, your professor-slash-lover-slash-mercenary, in the Great Hall, in front of the staff, about to eat a slice of your own face.” Harry laughed. 

“That’s just what you’d say if I was hallucinating you.”

“OI!” Ron said. “Who saw those bloody house-elves running amok? My GOD.”

“Almost got me in the legs,” Draco answered.

“I saw one of them stick a  _ knife  _ in someone’s  _ eye,”  _ Professor Sinistra said quietly. “Old one, too. Big tufty bat ears.” She put her hands up by her head and flapped them

“Bet that was KREACHER!” Ron laughed. “He was the leader! Blood-thirsty  _ bastard.” _

“Wait!” Draco said suddenly, holding out a hand for silence. “Does anyone know who that old man with the sword was? The one with the…” he mimed a long beard. “And the…” he mimed being insane. “I brought him, but I have  _ no idea _ who he was. It’s been driving me  _ mad.  _ I mean, that sword was taller than he was.”

“What, dark skin? Kinda…  _ enthusiastic?”  _ Bill asked, and Charlie started laughing.

“Oh he brought the  _ sword…  _ ahahaha…”

“Well?” Draco demanded. 

“That was Mr. Silas Jordan,” Bill said, leaning back in his seat. “As in, Lee Jordan’s Grandad. Potterwatch started in his basement, you know. He had all the equipment there. And let me tell  _ you,  _ he did NOT like the Dark Lord’s regime.”

“Had that sword above the mantle,” Charlie added.  _ “Dying  _ to use it.” He took a sip. “Hope he got to hack someone to death.”

“He did,” Aberforth said.  _ “Gruesome.” _

“What’s Potterwatch?” Draco asked, and then looked over at Severus with a sly grin. “Sounds like Snape’s _ job.” _ Severus just glared back at him until he blushed and averted his eyes. “What’s… um… what’s Potterwatch?”

As the dessert trays were cleared, and the drunkest people at the table continued to drink (with the notable exception of Professor Trelawney, who seemed to have fallen asleep with her glass in her hand), Harry’s eyes started to feel heavy.

“How long have I been awake?” he yawned, leaning against Severus’ shoulder. “Feels like ages.”

“About two and a half hours,” Severus answered, resting his temple on the top of Harry’s head. “I foresee a few weeks of exhaustion in store for you, my love. But try to stay awake a bit longer, if you can. We’ve an interrogation to suffer.”

_“Ugh,”_ Harry muttered. “Can I be rude about it?”

“Certainly. I plan on being rude as well.”

“Fun.”

“And then Champagne on the sofa, and sleep. How does that sound?”

“Good,” Harry answered, and yawned again. “If I stay awake long enough for the sofa part.”

Severus lifted his head to address Minerva. “If you want anything coherent out of Harry at all tonight, I suggest we go now.”

“Go WHERE?” Ron demanded, sitting up straight, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and he lowered his voice to a dark mutter. “All these  _ meetings.  _ Bloody  _ meetings.  _ Just  _ take Harry away, why don’t you… Like that’s ever gone badly…” _

Severus stood. “Do try to keep him from splinching himself,” he said to Hermione. “Or apparating directly inside a brick wall.”

“I’ll side-along him,” she answered. “Oh, wait!” She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a little drawstring bag. “I’ve got Harry’s things! His clothes and everything. From our little… adventure.” Severus held out his hand for it, and she passed it over. “There’s quite a lot in there. Undetectable Extension Charm.”

“Very good,” Severus said. “Thank you.”

Hermione smiled at him, and then at Harry. “See you tomorrow, then?” she asked. “We’re coming back until the castle is put to rights, I think.”

“Sure,” Harry answered. “If Ron is awake, anyway.”

“OI! I’m  _ FINE.” _

***

At first, Minerva suggested the Headmaster’s office for their meeting, but Severus categorically refused. He did not want to look at Albus Dumbledore’s face ever again, and certainly he did not want to see Albus  _ pretend  _ that he had known all along that Harry would survive, or  _ pretend  _ that he’d set them up to find  _ true love  _ or whatever god-awful manipulation the dead bastard would try next. So, in the end, Minerva took them to her office instead, and when they walked in, Harry immediately transfigured the two chairs in front of her desk into a two-seater. And that, Severus thought, was pretty rude. Also very in line with their new strategy of being obnoxiously, visibly, offensively in love, which they certainly were. So, he sat first, tugged Harry down to sit beside him, and wrapped an arm around him. Then he looked at Minerva standing awkwardly by her desk.

“Do pardon the honeymoon phase,” he said, gesturing for her to sit. “We were both fully convinced we’d never see eachother again until about sixteen hours ago. Quite a star-crossed situation, really. Tragic.” Minerva narrowed her eyes at him, but sat. Then she folded her hands together over her desk, and opened her mouth to speak. But Harry did not give her the chance. 

“Before you start asking questions,” he said. “I want to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Minerva repeated, raising an imperious eyebrow. She was obviously deeply unimpressed by anyone at all telling her what to do in her own office. Even the Chosen One. And that was unfortunate for her, Severus thought. Because Harry was going to  _ flatten her. _

“Yeah,” Harry continued. “I didn’t like it much when you showed up outside our door unannounced. I feel like maybe I’ve earned some privacy by this point.”

_ Our door,  _ Severus thought. And then he thought,  _ he doesn’t seem particularly tired, now,  _ and then he thought,  _ flatten her.  _

“And I don’t want it to happen again. So, I’ll tell you about me, and about Severus, and Draco, and Dumbledore, and the war. As much as you want to know. But I’m not talking about  _ us.” _ He gestured between himself and Severus. “Because  _ we _ are none of your business.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Potter,” she began, and hesitated. “...Harry. You must understand that I’m only trying to… protect you.”

“I’m like a poison dart frog,” Severus muttered, and Minerva glared fiercely at him.

“I’d say you’re more like a  _ grown man.” _

“Professor, please,” Harry sighed. “I know you mean well, and I’m going to try to say this in a nice way, because I respect you, ok? But my relationship with Severus has nothing to do with you, and you are out of line.”

“Harry-”

“And I’ll tell you why,” Harry continued, speaking over her. “First of all, you are not my mother. My mother is dead. Aside from that small detail, I am of age, and I can make my own decisions, and Severus is the love of my life, and he is not a  _ rapist,  _ and we  _ won the war together,  _ and that’s it.” He took a deep breath. “I hope that was clear.”

_ Love of my life,  _ Severus thought. 

Minerva tapped her fingers against her desk. “Harry…” she began carefully. “Do you remember what happened after you destroyed the shrieking shack? We had to revive you… forcefully. Do you remember?”

“I remember waking up on a table, and Hermione giving me water,” Harry answered. “And Voldemort’s threat.” He looked at Severus beside him. “I remember that really well.”

“And when you first woke up?” Minerva continued. “When we  _ rennervated _ you?”

Harry frowned. “No. I just remember… the table. Why?”

“Because I treated you rather roughly,” Severus broke in. “And she’s concerned that I treat you  _ roughly  _ in general. That I’m  _ abusive.” _ He raised his eyebrows at Minerva. “Isn’t that right?”

“You say that like he isn’t covered in bruises as we speak,” she hissed back. 

“I healed  _ most of them.” _

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Harry scoffed, tugging at his collar. “I’m fine.” He looked at Severus. “What did you do, slap me?”

“I pulled your hair, as I recall,” Severus said acidly. “Oh, and I pinned you to the desk. You were incoherent. Struggling.”

“I’m sure I was,” Harry answered. “I remember being pretty… scared.” He sank a little further into Severus’ side and addressed Minerva again. “So. You think I’m being treated poorly, is that it? Because of what you saw  _ during a battle?”  _ He glared at her. “Why don’t you just ask me straight out what you’re trying to ask me  _ cornerwise,  _ then? I’m not going to acknowledge any  _ vague suggestions,  _ so if you want an answer, you’re going to have to ask a real question.”

Minerva sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes, and then looked out the window. “As you wish,” she said. “Are you involved with Severus of your own free will?” 

“Yes,” Harry said. “Next?”

“How does he treat you?” 

“Like a prince. Next?”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Do you… feel that you have… agency in the relationship?”

Severus snorted.  _ Agency. _

“Yes,” Harry said. “Next?”

Minerva looked at Severus, and then back at Harry, and searched his eyes. “Might you consent to be… interviewed… privately?” she finally asked, and Harry held her gaze.

“No,” he said flatly. “In fact, that question is offensive, and I don’t want to hear it ever again. And I mean  _ ever.” _ There was a long silence, which Severus did not break. He just waited, and brushed the tips of his fingers across Harry’s side, thinking,  _ I love you. _ “Look,” Harry finally continued, with an eye-roll worthy of a Slytherin prefect. “You say you want to protect me, and that’s great. But here’s my problem with that. Were you trying to protect me while I was starving in the woods with my friends? Were you trying to protect me while I was searching for the Horcruxes, and caught by snatchers, and stalked and hunted and plastered all over the papers? While I was out fighting a war, were you trying to protect me? Or is this a new thing you’re doing, now that I’m fine and I  _ don’t need it?” _

“W-well,” Minerva stuttered, and Severus watched her flush in discomfort. Harry could be so savage sometimes. Unforgiving. It was… exciting. “I mean. I didn’t - I didn’t know where you were-”

“Fine. Yes,” Harry said. “But that isn’t the  _ point.  _ Even if you  _ had  _ known. What would you have done? I’m the Chosen One, right? So. Did you want to protect me from that, or did you just accept it?” His body was vibrating with tension, and Severus stroked him a little more firmly, slipping his fingertips under the hem of his shirt. That she was making him do this was obnoxious. But, Severus supposed, it had to happen eventually. And it would probably happen again, too. With the next  _ inquisitor. _ The next poor sod that thought they knew what Harry needed, or that he could be  _ managed. _ “Did you ever… fight with Dumbledore about his plans, or shout at him, or curse at him?” Harry continued. “Did you ever try to tell him that what he wanted me to do was too much? That it was  _ wrong? _ Or when I came here with the Dark Lord on my heels, telling you that I was following Dumbledore’s orders, did you think that seemed fine?” Silence. “Yeah.”

_ Savage. Fall on your knees like the rest of us, Minerva. _

“Surely you can’t be implying that-”

“That Severus was doing those things?” Harry demanded. “Well, I am, and he was. He was there for me all along. He taught me my wandless magic - which turned out to be pretty fucking important - and he taught me how to control my panic attacks, and my nightmares, and my bloody  _ brain.  _ He was there for me when the Minister cornered me, and he calmed me down when I thought I killed Draco. He brought me the sword of Gryffindor when I needed it, and he told me how to get into the school, and where the Carrows were stationed. He argued with Dumbledore about the awful things I was supposed to do, and told him to  _ go to hell.” _

“Not in so many words,” Severus muttered, sliding his palm along Harry’s waist, under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, and remembering how he’d twisted and whimpered under his hands hardly two hours before. Remembering the sound of his voice, thin with desperation:  _ ‘please - please, Severus - for the love of god - please please please.’ _

Funny how many people thought they knew him, and how incredibly wrong they all were. Most of them didn’t even know his outermost layer, let alone the core.

“So you listen to me, Professor McGonagall,” Harry continued, his voice hardening further. “Severus was a _spy._ He intentionally presented himself to you and everyone else in a very specific way to keep his cover intact, and the only two people on earth who know what he was really doing all that time are Dumbledore and me. But I’ll give you a little primer, shall I? This man,” he pointed at Severus beside him. “Stood at the Dark Lord’s right hand for _me._ He risked his life for me, and was brutally tortured for me. He killed for me, and tore his own memories apart for me. He tolerated years of _bullshit_ for _me._ He tried so hard to protect me that I had to knock him unconscious to make him stop, and he _executed_ the Dark Lord for me and you _saw it._ So. Unless you _really think_ that I need to be protected from the love of a man that has saved my life FIFTY TIMES, but not from starvation, imprisonment, torture and death, I will not discuss our relationship any further, other than to tell you this: _Don’t worry about it.”_

McGonagall’s mouth was open, and Severus withheld an expression of elation with great difficulty. “Any other questions, Minerva?” he asked. “Or has Harry beaten you into submission? I know he can be quite terrifying.” He kissed Harry’s temple, and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “You are extremely appealing when you’re filled with righteous fury.” __

Harry laughed unkindly. “You always think I’m appealing.”

“True.”

“But… I mean… Draco?” Minerva asked weakly. “What about Draco?”

“Oh, I think I can answer that one,” Severus said, tugging Harry a little closer. “Though I warn you, it’s an ugly story. Primarily because my colleagues here at school declined to speak up, despite their obvious conviction that I was spending my lunch-breaks brutalizing a student. Interesting choice, really. To look away. I suppose he doesn’t inspire as much sympathy as  _ Harry Potter.” _ He held up a hand when Minerva opened her mouth to interject. “I’m not interested in why. As it turns out, he was perfectly fine. Or, at the very least, not being  _ violated.”  _ He stopped, and took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. He’d held himself in check pretty well thus far, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure he could get all the way through his explanation without shouting. And it would do no good to be perceived as particularly fiery and violent just then. He needed to seem… protective, not rageful. 

So, he focused on Harry’s warm weight against his side, and the fact that it was Harry whose opinion mattered, not anyone else’s, and that Harry already knew all of this, and still loved him. Harry knew he hadn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. Harry was still by his side.

His anger began to ebb, and he continued. 

“When Draco failed to kill Albus, as he was tasked to do, the Dark Lord offered him to me as a slave. He wanted Draco subjugated, and as horrifically as possible, and he thought I was just the man to do it. Well, I declined. As I am not, in fact, a sexual predator. But the Dark Lord didn’t just offer him to  _ me. _ He simply offered him to me  _ first,  _ and as I’m sure you know, the Dark Lord’s ranks are filled to bursting with a diverse and nauseating spread of loathsome sadists. Draco came to me personally asking for protection within days. He understood the alternative, you see. He’s an intelligent young man. And lest you think I am attempting to paint a rosy picture of myself, Minerva, let me assure you. I told him to  _ fuck off, and figure it out himself.”  _ He shifted a little in his seat. “But he responded by begging, and I reconsidered. I decided that I couldn’t let it pass. I went to the Dark Lord, and asked for him. I protected him from the others.”

“Madam Pince saw you  _ drag him by the hair,” _ Minerva said. “Horace saw him leaving your quarters past midnight more than once. And the  _ marks.”  _ She shivered a little in her chair. “How you could have-”

“Call him a rapist again and this meeting is  _ over,”  _ Harry interrupted. “I mean it. Last chance.”

“You do realize, of course, Minerva,” Severus continued, laying a hand on Harry’s knee. “That the only way to keep Draco safe was to convince the Dark Lord that I was already abusing him? You can ask Draco yourself, and you should. It was a terrible experience for the both of us.” He glared at her. “Pity no one cared to intercede for him at school, despite my  _ dragging him by the hair. _ Such an extreme thing for me to have done in front of witnesses, isn’t it?  _ Dragging  _ him through the halls that way. Almost like something I would do if I wanted to force a reaction out of someone. How naive of me to hope that anyone but Saint Harry himself would care what happened to a  _ Malfoy.” _

“He risked everything for us,” Harry added. “For me. He let us out of the cellar at Malfoy Manor when we were captured because of what Severus was doing for him. And then he… fought with us. You saw it. It turned him.”

“After all of Albus’ machinations to save that boy, he would have been brutally raped and tortured to death,” Severus added. “If not for my  _ abuse.” _

“Wait, wait, back up,” Minerva said. “Start over, please. What about Albus? You killed him, didn’t you? Or was that a lie?” She looked at Harry. “Did you… lie? You seemed so…”

“Upset?” Harry demanded. “Yeah, I was upset. I  _ saw it, _ didn’t I? And NO, it wasn’t a lie. Severus killed him just like I said he did. But big surprise! Everything is extremely complicated and fucked up, and if I’m going to tell this story, you better take notes, because I do  _ not _ want to say it a hundred times.” He took a deep breath. “Dumbledore made Severus promise to kill him because he was going to die anyway, and he didn’t want Draco to have to do it.” 

He told the whole story, right from the beginning. The cursed ring, the Horcruxes, the memory from Slughorn, Draco’s task, Severus’ unbreakable vow, and his attempts to weasel Draco’s plans out of him. The murder of Dumbledore at the top of the tower, and Severus’ flight from the school. Severus added in details here and there that Harry did not know, such as the planting of information in Mundungus Fletcher’s head, the false extraction dates, and how many Deatheaters had competed to be the one to corner Harry once his mother’s charm was broken.

“Luckily for us all, I held the Dark Lord’s highest esteem at that time,” Severus said. “He disregarded the information of the others, and when my plan failed, he declined to execute me. If I hadn’t been as well placed as I was, that might have been the end.” 

“He tortured you, though,” Harry said. “I saw it.” He looked at McGonagall. “Out in the garden at the Burrow, after I escaped, I had a vision. It was - awful. I almost got sick.” 

Severus took his hand. “It was a terrible night. Harry fell off of Hagrid’s motorbike, Minerva. I was right there - I was so close - but I couldn’t catch him. I couldn’t go to him. I couldn’t even-” He broke off, inhaled very slowly, and held it. “I couldn’t even see if he was alive.”

“You saw me fall?” Harry asked.

“Oh, yes. Paralyzing. Were you hurt? You never said.”

“Yeah, I was. Pretty bad, too. I landed in the mud, but still… broken ribs, broken arm, knocked out teeth. Tonks’ dad set me right. But he’s…” He looked down at their interlaced fingers. “He's dead, now. And… so is she.” 

“Wait, so Albus’ portrait was directing you?” Minerva asked. 

“After a fashion, yes,” Severus said. “There was a plan in place, of course, but his portrait certainly… pressured me to follow through with it. Consult with him, if you like. I’m sure he has quite a lot to say. I called him some colorful names. I was quite enraged that his plan required Harry to die, you see. It seemed rather…  _ unfair _ to me.”

“Anyway,” Harry broke in. “After the Ministry fell, Ron, Hermione and I fled to Number Twelve. That’s where we figured out where the locket had gone, and when we broke into the Ministry to get it back, we found Moody’s eye and stole that, too-”

“His  _ eye?” _

“Yeah. Umbridge was using it like a weird spy-hole. I buried it. But that’s not important. What’s important is we had no way to destroy the Horcrux, and wearing it made us all insane.” And thus came the story of the sword, and the pool, and the food.

“You should have seen them, Minerva.” Severus said. _“Emaciated._ It was shocking. I rather screamed at Albus over it. And the _cold._ My God.” He shuddered _._ “The conditions were horrific.”

“So that was how Ron and Hermione sort of… got with the program,” Harry continued. “Severus was feeding us, and bringing us information. You can ask them. They’ll tell you how kind he was to us. To me.” He looked at the floor, and Severus looked at him, remembering Harry’s frigid, shivering, skeletal body in his arms. Remembering the shock and terror of seeing him after so long, and how it had felt to sit on that little cushion and offer up all his awful deeds. Staring into the sky so he didn’t have to see the disgust he was sure would be in Harry’s eyes. “He healed me,” Harry continued. “I was… wounded.” 

_ Wounded. Beaten. Bitten. Strangled. Starved. Frozen. Betrayed. Disarmed. Alone. Empty. Angry. Confused. _

_ Heartbroken. _

There was another long silence.

“Will you tell me about the bracelets?” Minerva finally asked.

“Do you really want to know?” Severus sneered, and when Minerva just looked at him, he sighed. “Fine. But if you take issue with it, take it up with Albus. He gave them to us after Harry’s collapse at Headquarters. You remember.” She nodded. “Well. That summer, Harry was… struggling. With his… trauma.” He hesitated, and Harry squeezed his hand.

“It’s ok,” he said, giving him a half smile. “You can tell her how it was.”

“Are you sure?” Severus asked. “I know you don’t like to… discuss it.”

“I think it’s important.”

“I suppose it is.” He turned his attention back to Minerva, and steeled himself. “After the skirmish in the Department of Mysteries, Harry wasn’t sleeping very much at all. He was acting irrationally. He was a danger to himself. But no one else seemed willing to see how much he was struggling. He did not speak of it, and they did not ask. So, I started dosing him with Dreamless Sleep to stabilize him. I think you heard a bit of that from Ron Weasley last year. Well, I allowed the arrangement to persist for a few weeks, until it became clear to me that I was not handling it particularly… responsibly, and I told Albus. Harry had been coming to my rooms at night, when he couldn’t sleep. Demanding tranquilizers, trying to pick fights… I was fully aware of how inappropriate it was. But Albus reacted rather differently than I’d anticipated. I expected to be admonished and sanctioned, if not fired outright. But instead of separating us, instead of handing Harry to Poppy, he facilitated our… friendship, and when Harry’s magical outburst occurred, he gave us the bracelets to allow us to communicate freely at school. To prevent a relapse, or so he said. So, at Albus’ bidding, I began tutoring him in the evenings. Helping him channel his incredible magic without injury, helping him control his emotions, such as they were at that time, and helping him…” he trailed off, wondering how he might finish that sentence.  _ Survive? _

“Function,” Harry supplied. “I was doing really bad. Like Severus said. Crazy.”

“You are not crazy,” Severus corrected him. “You are a veteran, and a victim of abuse and neglect. You are… a survivor.” He frowned, and then leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me this, Minerva, as we are on the topic of shielding Harry from harm: Have you any idea what his life was like in the muggle world? How his  _ relatives _ treated him? How they’d still treat him, if they could get at him? Hm? Another interesting  _ choice  _ made by the administration of this school.”

“Hey, I don’t want to talk about that,” Harry said, and Severus sat back.

“The bracelets allowed him to feel that he wasn’t alone,” he said instead. “To ask for medication when he needed it. Companionship. Distraction. And they allowed him to escape to the Dungeons when the staring of the other students became too much to bear. As I’m sure you are aware, Minerva, they do  _ stare.” _

Minerva tapped one finger against her lips and then looked between them. “And you expect me to believe your relationship was platonic at that time?”

“I do not,” Severus answered. “I only expect you not to ask, as per Harry’s very forceful request.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that it matters,” Harry broke in. “Look me in the eye and tell me that I can go toe to toe with the Dark Lord, but I can’t go home to a warm bed and a man that loves me. Say it like that and tell me it’s true.”

Minerva did look into his eyes for a long moment. Then, she sighed. “Let me ask you this, instead,” she said, rubbing her right temple. “Albus allowed it? He  _ facilitated _ it?”

“Yes,” Severus answered tersely. “He allowed it. He facilitated it. And as we all know, Albus Dumbledore is the highest authority on  _ moral correctness,  _ and would never throw a teenager into a dangerous, adult situation.”

“Is there anything else?” Harry interjected. “I’m pretty tired.”

“You… said you died…” Minerva said slowly. “What did you mean by that?”

***

“So,” Charlie said, sitting back in his chair and regarding Draco steadily from across the table. “You’ve a Dark Mark, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Draco answered, and then blushed at his own hostile tone and looked into his glass. Charlie didn’t seem particularly offended, though. Charlie just looked at him in an appraising sort of way.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m turning eighteen in a month. Why?” 

“Just young for a Deatheater I s’pose.” Charlie balanced his knife on its tip with one finger. “How about you, Mrs. Malfoy? The mark, I mean. Not your age, of course.”

“I did not take the mark, no,” Narcissa answered. “I was never considered… active enough. And I did not care to wear it, of course.”

“Understandable.” He looked back at Draco. “So, can I see it?”

“RUUUUUDE,” Bill said, pointing a fork at his brother. “Rude.”

“What?” Charlie shot back. “Never seen one on an alive arm, have I? Just saw Snape’s. All ripped off.”

“What did it look like?” Draco asked with interest. “I only saw a bit of the bandage. While they were… you know.  _ Humiliating  _ the Dark Lord.” He paused, looking into the middle distance. “That was so…”

“Hot?” Charlie supplied, and next to him, Professor Sinistra nodded like that was a very profound thing to say.

“God’s honest truth, that,” Bill said. “I don’t like blokes but  _ lord almighty-”  _ he fanned himself, and Charlie punched him in shoulder. “Ow! What?”

“Anyway,” Charlie continued. “It looked like a bloody handprint. And I mean that literally. As in, it was bleeding.”

“Pretty  _ cooooool  _ looking,” Ron added. “Maybe he’ll do yours. Give you a nice scar. Just Harry’s handprint on you forever. Bet you’d like that, eh Malfoy? Harry’s  _ handprint?” _ He waggled his eyebrows and Hermione started giggling.

Draco just looked at his mother. “Do you think he would?”

“And you scoff at people thinking you’re Harry’s special traitor,” Bill laughed.

“I  _ am _ Harry’s special traitor,” Draco sneered back. “I’m just not  _ fucking him,  _ am I?”

“Boys! My goodness,” Slughorn gasped. “Language!”

“Laaaaaanguage,” Trelawney murmured into Hagrid’s sleeve. Hagrid shifted and grunted. He had his head on the table.

“Are you telling me,” Ron began testily, waving his goblet around. “That out of all the  _ people  _ around Harry, NO ONE thought the Dark Lord was talking about ME?” Charlie, Bill, Draco and Neville all burst out laughing. “WHAT?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, dear,” Madam Hooch said gently from the end of the table, patting her full stomach. “But you are extremely heterosexual.”

“What is that, an insult?” Ron demanded.

***

“Are you telling me that you were actually  _ dead?”  _ Minerva asked, agast. 

“I mean… I dunno, really. I dunno if it was really Dumbledore, either. But yeah. I was hit straight on with the killing curse. Didn’t try to deflect it or anything. But then I got Severus’ message, and when I came back out, Narcissa pretended I was dead, and Hagrid carried me back to the castle.”

“I just about fucking imploded,” Severus muttered.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t want to move until Hagrid put me down. In case he… freaked out or something. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s quite alright. I’m sure I’ll look dapper with my new grey hairs.”

Harry smiled crookedly at him, and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait!” he said. “That reminds me. The Dark Lord called you a name when he pulled you out of the crowd. Honorable… something. What was it?” 

Severus sighed heavily. “He called me an  _ honorable pederast,”  _ he said.

“What does that mean? Not a blood-status thing, is it?”

“...No.”

“Pederasty is a practice from Ancient Greece,” Minerva began tightly. “Wherein an adult man takes an adolescent boy as a lover. Generally frowned upon in modern society.”

Harry gaped at her, and then at Severus. “Well FUCK that guy,” he burst out. “Jeez. What a thing to say while I’m laying there  _ dead.”  _ He crossed his arms. “Like it matters when you’re a  _ murderer,  _ anyway.  _ Oooh big scary age-gap oooooh.  _ Pfft. Stupid.”

“Indeed,” Severus answered. “And now he’s been bled, burned, and fed to the thestrals. So.” He stood up. “I believe my  _ adolescent lover  _ and I have an appointment with a bottle of Champagne, now that we’ve justified ourselves to  _ you. _ Might we be dismissed?” Harry stood up, too.

“You are unbelievable,” Minerva said. “How you can be so  _ bold-” _

“I have many sources of shame, Minerva,” Severus interrupted, straightening his robes. “But loving Harry Potter is not one of them, and you can tell everyone else that, too. And let Horace know that if he inserts himself into my business again, I will have words with him. And when you speak to Albus, if you do, let him know that I despise him and hope he’s in hell.”

He turned to Harry and, without preamble, picked him up like a bride. Harry shrieked.

“HEY!”

“Come, my unforgivably youthful paramour,” Severus declared, holding him tight against the kicking of his legs. 

“Put me DOWN! You’ll hurt your arm!!”

“I will not, my unethical yet technically-legal concubine. It’s time for me to confuse and manipulate you! To the dungeons!”

“Go then! MERLIN,” Minerva demanded, covering her face with her hands. “My  _ god.” _

“A villainous rogue I have always been!” Severus kicked the door open. “Good night!”

  
  



	3. Masters Potter and Snape

Minerva rested her head in her hands for a long moment, trying to think of what in God’s name to do. She had a lot of information now that would have been very helpful ten months ago. So, what was first? She needed to speak to the rest of the staff, certainly, but they were inebriated and probably still drinking. That would have to wait. She needed to speak to Albus, too, but she was afraid that if she went right then she would handle it… poorly. She felt frayed, and irritable, and likely to make mistakes, and what she’d just heard from Harry and Severus could result in nothing but a very complicated discussion at best, and a fight at worst. And she was too tired for that. She’d spent the day coordinating and carrying out the cleanup efforts in the castle, and had hardly broken for food. There was no way she could organize her thoughts clearly enough to do anything but scream at Albus, and that would be a waste of time. And the _dinner._ What a disgrace. She’d never seen her colleagues behave so ridiculously. Merlin, the state of them, weeping and shouting and demanding magical demonstrations.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, remembering the way Harry had blushed while Severus was whispering to him behind that giant bouquet. And then she remembered Severus’ reaction to the little flower Harry had left in his hand during the battle. And then there was a squawk from outside her office door, and low laughter, and she decided that the best thing to do right then was to retire to her quarters and open up the bottle of scotch she kept in her writing desk.

She could fight with Albus and deal with the staff in the morning. When she wasn’t so bloody _tired._

***

Severus put Harry down outside Minerva’s office door. 

“You fucking _lunatic,”_ Harry said, tugging his shirt back into place. “Jeez.”

“Sorry,” Severus answered. “I was… annoyed.” 

“Yeah, I could tell,” Harry scoffed, still fussing over his clothes even though they were perfectly fine, and Severus eyed his flush with interest. He was radiant, and pink, and it didn’t seem to be embarrassment. Or, at least, not all of it. He looked rather pleased, really. If Severus wasn’t mistaken. Pleased, and trying to hide it. 

That was… intriguing. 

He raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. “My my,” he began, and Harry looked up, saw his expression, and took a step back. 

“What?” 

“Look at that blush,” Severus continued. “Like being carried, do you?” 

“No,” Harry answered defensively, and his color deepened. And that was _very_ charming. Severus wondered if he’d shriek again. Struggle and _shriek._

“You _do.”_

Harry held out his hands and backed up. “Severus - hey - _NO.”_

“You know how to say no to me, Potter, and it’s not like that.” Severus pursued him, seized him around the waist, and threw him over one shoulder. And Harry did, indeed, shriek.

“SEVERUS! We’re in the _hallway!”_

“Oh, is that your objection? How inappropriate of me to manhandle you in _public.”_

Harry stiffened. _“What the fuck is wrong with you?”_ he yelped, but Severus just laughed. 

“Isn't it obvious, my little Lazarus?” he asked, setting off towards the Dungeons while Harry ineffectually flailed his legs. “You’re alive, and the Dark Lord is dead, and I’m free, and you just _crushed_ Minerva McGonagall, and I’m in love with you. I’m happy, _obviously.”_

“Well I’m glad you’re so bloody _happy,_ but I am not a _SACK OF POTATOES!”_

“What you are is very _light.”_ Severus gave him a little swat on the behind. “You need to eat more.” Harry started slapping at his back.

“Let _GO! Severus -_ c’mon- someone’s gonna _see-”_

“What a horrific tragedy _that_ would be,” Severus laughed, giving him another swat. “How shocking for everyone.”

“Ow! _hey-”_

“I just love it when you _thrash.”_

_“Severussssss, I SWEAR-”_

“OOOOoooooh,” came a hoot from overhead, and Severus looked up to see Peeves appear through the ceiling. “Potty wee Potter and the _Headmaster!”_ He cupped his hands over his mouth. _“SCAAAANDAL!”_

“Oh, hello Peeves,” Severus said. “I’m afraid I’m a bit occupied just now.” Harry squawked in indignation, and Peeves cackled gleefully. 

“Headmaster Snape’s got Potty in his pocket! Pocket Potty! Haha!” He did a somersault. “What a bad man!”

Harry glared up at him as best he could from where he was hanging over Severus’ shoulder. “Bugger off _Peeves,”_ he sneered.

“Oooh, feisty! Like a wee little _lion.”_

“Don’t underestimate him, Peeves,” Severus laughed, suddenly quite sure that he had never felt more joyful in his life, and that the memory of this moment would produce a Patronus as bright as the sun _._ “He’s far more dangerous than a lion. More like a _manticore.”_

“An angry cat!” Peeves pulled a face and made a spitting noise, and Nearly-Headless Nick poked his head out of a solid wall to their left.

“What’s going on out h- oh.” 

“Oh _god,”_ Harry moaned, mortified.

“Why, good evening, Nicholas,” Severus said, continuing on his way with the Poltergeist swooping overhead. “Do pardon the _screeching._ Harry’s in denial.”

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Nick asked.

“Why, I’m celebrating, of course. With my incredibly inconvenient soulmate. Say hello, Harry.”

“Hi Nick,” Harry said weakly.

“Are you… alright?” Nick asked uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“He’s got Potty! Haha! The war heroes! Hahaha!” Peeves blew a raspberry and then started strutting in midair with his chest thrown out. _“‘My god, man! That’s a student!’”_ he bellowed, twisting an invisible mustache. _“A student!_ Ahahaha!!”

“Well then, um… pardon me for… er… intruding. H-headmaster.” Nick turned slightly more opaque than usual and faded back into the wall with a little grimace, and Harry covered his face with his hands.

“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed into Severus’ robes.

“I’ve no doubt that you could,” Severus answered pleasantly. “And you’re much easier to carry when you’re not struggling, you know.”

“Been _carrying me_ a lot, have you?” 

“Oh, yes. Just dragging you all over the castle and grounds in varying states of lucidity.”

“Poor Potty! So tired from all the _carnage!”_ Peeves howled. “Mad mad Potty and the mad Headmaster. A match made in the loooooonybin!” He cartwheeled and walked on his hands in the air, keeping pace. “What’ll you call yourselves? Mister and Mister SNOTTER?”

“Fuck off,” Harry spat. “We’re _hyphenating.”_

“Mister and Mister PAPE!”

“Go bother Horace, Peeves,” Severus said. “He should be an easy target, just now. Quite drunk. If you hurry, he might still be in the Great Hall.” Peeves gave him a jaunty salute. 

“Yes, Captain Pape!” he declared. “Onward to CHAOS!” He burst into song as he tumbled away. _“Snape and Potter sitting in a tree! F - U - C-”_ He vanished through the wall.

“Oh, _god,”_ Harry groaned over Severus’ laughter. “I _haaaaate_ you.”

“Hate me now, do you? What an abysmal liar.”

“I am NOT!”

“My apologies, my precious potato sack. What I meant to say was, ‘your hatred is scorching, and I shall never recover.’” Harry stiffened like he was going to start struggling again, but after a moment, he went limp. “Oh, do you surrender?” 

Harry didn’t answer. He just grumbled something under his breath that sounded rather like, _‘this is not courtship, you deranged maniac.’_

“I do believe I’ll take whatever you just said as a compliment. Thank you.” Severus stopped in the hallway. “Kreacher?” 

_Crack!_

“Master Snape calls for Kreacher?” Kreacher asked, appearing before them with a low bow. “How might Kreacher serve?”

“Could you send a bottle of Champagne to my quarters, please? Two glasses.”

“Certainly, Master Snape. Kreacher will-” He looked up, and froze. “Oh. Master Potter. Good… evening.”

“Hi Kreacher,” Harry muttered. 

The elf’s bulbous eyes traveled over Harry’s predicament and then crinkled in amusement. “Master Potter must be terribly depleted,” he croaked.

“Oh, yes,” Severus answered. “He can hardly walk. Very sad.” Harry just stayed draped over Severus’ shoulder like a very docile scarf, and grumbled something truly unintelligible. Maybe it contained the word _conspiracy._

“Well... would Masters care for a pairing of desserts to accompany the bottle? Or perhaps artisanal cheeses? To fortify the body.” Kreacher’s batlike ears wiggled with suppressed laughter. “Restore Master Potter to health and vitality.”

“Oh, desserts, please,” Severus answered, giving Harry an affectionate pinch. “He’s quite a sweet tooth you know. And so _thin!_ A travesty.” 

Kreacher bowed low again. “Very true, Master Snape.” 

_Crack!_

“Are you fucking kidding me right now,” Harry muttered, and he kept muttering all the way down into the Dungeons. Something about _Felix Felicis._ Severus was pretty sure he was being accused of having taken it. As if he needed a potion to get Harry onto his sofa. What an insult.

“I assure you, I'm perfectly sober,” he said. “At the moment, anyway. Though I am planning on plying you with alcohol until you forgive me for treating you like _produce.”_ Harry whispered something about revenge into his back, and Severus chuckled. “My dear demigod, you could call up a volcano under my feet if it struck your fancy.” They reached the door to his rooms, and Severus unlocked it with one hand. “Turn my hair to snakes, make my skin slough off.” He set Harry on his feet. “Hit me with a bolt of lightning. If it pleased you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry said snidely, prissily brushing nonexistent dust off of his clothes. “You’re not gonna dump me on the bed like dirty laundry? Seemed like you were gonna do that.”

“Certainly not,” Severus answered, holding the door open with a little bow. “I would never put dirty laundry on my bed.” Harry scoffed and walked through.

“My God, Severus, you’re such a -” He stopped suddenly. “Oh.”

“Hm?” Severus locked the door and turned around to see Harry standing quite still in the center of the living room. He seemed to be staring at the coffee table, and Severus followed his gaze to the spread left by the house-elves. It was quite lovely. They had brought his bouquet of plumeria down from the great hall and added a few sprays of greenery to it, and it was standing on a silver platter between an ice bucket and pair of flutes on one side, and a pyramid of delicate petit-fours and a cluster of cards on the other. 

Severus looked once between the decorative display and Harry’s body language, and practically sprinted over to take hold of him. 

He’d acted before his rational mind could even justify it, but as he laid hands on Harry’s rigid body and pulled him back against his chest, his brain caught up with him and supplied the very helpful thought: _Mistake._

And then the even more helpful followup:

_Well, obviously. Try to remember who it is you’re dealing with, Severus. Are you trying to see how much he can take in one day? Quick! Propose. See if he just drops dead from heart failure._

_Moron._

“Alright, Harry,” he said, giving him a squeeze. “Too much. I’m sorry. Are you breathing? No you are not.” Harry was frozen in his arms, almost like a statue, and did not so much as blink when Severus spoke to him. “Harry,” he said again, holding him firmly with one arm while he pressed his point with the other. “Match me, now. Inhale,” he counted, “and… exhale. That’s right. Inhale… and… exhale. Very good.” It took about three tries for Harry’s rib cage to expand under his hands, but that wasn’t so bad. It had taken much longer on the floor of his bathroom after the _sectumsempra_ debacle. Of course, that night Harry had been jerked out of his body by nearly committing manslaughter, not by a charming gift from his admirers. Well. Clearly he was having trouble adjusting to the sudden lack of mortal peril. He probably thought he was dreaming again. “You can ask me,” Severus continued, now that Harry was breathing. “You can ask me if it’s real, if you need to.”

“No… not dreaming,” Harry said slowly, but he didn’t sound shaky, as he had in bed, or ironic, as he had at the table. He sounded flat, like he was absolutely sure what he was saying was the truth. “And…I’m not in the Hospital.” 

It was not even remotely a question, and for a moment, Severus was relieved. Maybe he hadn’t needed his point. Maybe he was just surprised, and Severus had overreacted. That would probably happen for a while. Severus was feeling pretty… protective. “That’s right,” he said. “Not dreaming, and not in the hospital. You’re just exhausted, and you’ve had a very confusing day.” _A very confusing life, anyway. Bloody madness every hour for seventeen years._

“Not … dreaming,” Harry repeated blankly. “...dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah. I’m… dead. I didn’t come back from the clearing. And you didn’t - take me to dinner. Or. Or carry me. You can’t have.”

Severus’ heart sank.

_Well, fuck. Of course he thinks he’s dead. My god, Severus, you should have known better. Flowers and Champagne? Throwing him over your shoulder and damn who sees? What, exactly, are you trying to do to him? The Dark Lord’s only been dead for sixteen hours, and Harry’s been awake for FOUR, and you just put him through that meeting with Minerva, and he was already so tired, and you thought it would be a good idea to just act like a lovesick dolt? Thought he'd transition smoothly from fighting for his life and starving in a TENT to crystal glasses and little cakes, did you? Ease right from believing his only value was found in death, straight to your charming courtship? More pleasure in three hours than he’s had in the last three years, and he’s just going to take it in stride, is he? You’re an IDIOT, Severus. An idiot._

_Say something before he goes catatonic._

“No, Harry, no,” he said. “I did take you to dinner, and I did carry you, and you’re right here with me. You’re in the Dungeons.”

“No, I can’t be,” Harry continued. He sounded perfectly calm, like he had after coming out of the Pensieve, and it had been inappropriate and frightening then, too. “This isn’t my life. Not _me._ This is… for someone else.” 

Silly of Severus to think the sudden stabs of grief would be over and done with now that the Dark Lord was dead. They weren’t, and the one he got right then was deep. Deep, and frigid, like an icicle right in the heart. Because what Harry was telling him was that good things did not belong in his life. That pleasure and joy were so foreign that they had to be a mistake. 

_‘You are not allowed to love me, and I was not supposed to survive the war, and here you are loving me, so I must be dead.’_ It was logical, really. Very astute of Harry to intellectually examine his life up to this point, compare it to the last four hours, and conclude that something was severely wrong. With him, or with the world.

_What an excellent time for you to forget that this boy grew up in a cupboard believing he wasn’t worth the food it took to keep him alive, and that when you first tried to love him he recoiled like you were a red-hot poker. It broke your heart, if you don’t fucking remember. You had to slow down then, and you better slow down now. Slow down, and fix it. Fucking flowers and cards and a tart with his face on it. Merlin. He hasn’t been with you at all for months, and never in the open like this. He understands being alone. He understands being used, and pushed, and sent into danger. He does not understand what is happening to him now, and how in God’s name could he?_

_Slow down, back up, and fix it._

Severus turned him around in his arms and took hold of his head. “Harry,” he said firmly. “Listen to me. You’ve lived a month in the last two days, and you’re very tired, and everything is very suddenly very different, and I’m sorry for letting so much happen to you in one day. That was my fault, and I’m not going to allow it again. Now, I know it feels surreal, and I feel that, too. But that feeling is an _emotion_ not a _truth.”_ He tried to catch Harry’s eyes, but they jumped around his face like he was expecting him to vanish, or transform into something else. A shadow on a canvas wall, maybe. Or a dark blur beside a hospital bed. Or a gravestone. “Harry,” he said again. “Look at me.” He took hold of his jaw and hardened his voice. “Are you in the Dungeons?”

Harry blinked at him. “I…” 

“Say, ‘yes, sir,’” Severus insisted.

“Yes… sir,” Harry answered slowly. 

“That’s right. You are. And I’ll say this as many times as you need to hear it. You are not dreaming, and you are not in the Hospital Wing. You’re not in that godforsaken tent, or in St. Mungo’s, and you certainly are not dead in the Forbidden Forest, or in heaven. You are here, with me, in my quarters, where you belong. You won the war, and it’s over, and that’s why everything is so… new.” Harry’s brow furrowed in his tiniest frown. It was the one he made when he was trying not to make any expression at all, and Severus tightened his hand. “Harry. Can you feel my hand on you?” 

“Yes,” Harry said softly.

“Yes, sir,” Severus corrected him.

“Yes, sir,” Harry repeated.

“And you can hear my voice?” Severus asked. 

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re sore, and tired, and frightened, and confused, aren’t you? Spots and tunnel vision? Light sensitivity? Yes?” The corners of Harry’s mouth turned down, but he didn’t answer. “And the portraits terrorized you, and Minerva called me a rapist right to my face, and the castle is full of holes and covered in broken glass. Now. Does that sound like heaven to you? Or a beautiful dream? Does it?” 

“I…” Finally, Harry frowned his regular frown. That was better. “...No,” he said, and pressed his own trigger point. “I guess that sounds pretty… normal.”

“Yes,” Severus answered. “Normal for you, anyway. To anyone else, this would feel like chaos. But your point of reference is skewed.” He folded him into an embrace and kissed the top of his head, speaking into his hair. “After all the hiding, and deception, and creeping around, stripping off the disguises is going to feel like a dream. After everything you’ve been through, peace is going to feel like a lie. But it’s not a lie, and neither am I, and you are going to have to trust me when I tell you that it won’t vanish from beneath your feet.” He squeezed him a little tighter. “Just because something is good, doesn’t mean it’s a trick, Harry. Just because you like something, doesn’t mean it’s going to be taken from you.” _That’s too soft. Say something violent so he believes you._ “Particularly not now that I am in a position to mutilate anyone who dares wish you ill.” _More violent._ “Just… bring you their teeth and… vital organs.”

Finally, Harry exhaled, and then laid his cheek on Severus’ chest. It was almost like he was listening for a heartbeat, so Severus did not speak. They just stood that way, in silence, for a long moment. Then, Harry sighed. 

“It’s over,” he said. 

“Yes,” Severus answered, sliding one palm up Harry’s back to feel his heart beating, too. Fast, but not alarmingly so. “And only by hours. Disorientation is to be expected. We are having a very complicated few days, and we have both been through a thresher. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“An emotional thresher,” Harry chuckled into his shirt. 

“Yes. I think I went through it twice, actually.”

“Sorry.” 

“I believe I forbade you from apologizing,” Severus said, stroking one hand up Harry’s spine and into his hair. “If anyone should repent for the psychological mince we now have to sort through, it is I.” He paused. “Or, perhaps, Albus. But let me assure you, the hallucinatory quality of our new life will pass, in time. Sleep, and food, and a steady hand - specifically mine - will teach you that there is nothing to fear from safety, despite the opinion of your very traumatized brain.”

Harry lifted his head to look up at him. “I just meant… I’m sorry I get so…” He trailed off with a little grimace, and Severus realized that he was embarrassed. Well, that would not do at all, would it? Severus would not tolerate any shame. Not now.

“Full of exciting mood swings?” he supplied, took Harry’s hand, and kissed his knuckles. “Come now, Potter. I’m entirely aware of what I’ve gotten myself into.” He led him over to the sofa by the arm, and sat him on it. “I may be the only person privy to your private struggles, my love, but I am also perfectly capable of handling them, and they certainly do not frighten me.” He lifted the bottle from the ice, and started peeling off the foil. “And do try not to forget that I fell quite wretchedly in love with you while you were at least twice as insane as you are now.” He popped the cork. “If you recall, I first confessed my feelings the night you tried to get me to flay you alive.” He looked up to see Harry watching his hands as he poured. “And you returned my sentiment less than two days after a nearly fatal overdose.” He handed over one full glass and sat beside him. “Always an adventure. Cheers.”

Harry gave him a weak smile, and raised his flute. “To what?” he asked. “My panic attacks?”

“Oh, yes,” Severus answered. “And to our fascinating and messy future in general. To nightmares, and flashbacks, and spates of disorientation and inexplicable terror.”

“To spots and tunnel vision,” Harry added wryly. “And that thing where I get all dizzy.”

“To talking you down, and drinking too much, and fleeing from photographers,” Severus said, and finally, Harry laughed. 

“To… um… being stared at,” he said. “And _interrogated_ by _strangers.”_

“Ah, yes. To giving statements to the ministry, and having our relationship dragged out into the limelight, and suffering many disapproving _eyebrows.”_

Harry grinned. “To sitting on your lap,” he said, and Severus inclined his head.

“To holding your hand.”

“To disturbing Professor McGonagall.”

“To sinking my claws into you and never letting go.”

Harry looked away and blushed very nicely. “To trying to die and failing. Again.” 

“To all of that,” Severus agreed. “And to a truly excellent scar.”

They clinked their glasses together, and drank. And then Severus drew Harry forward with one finger under his chin, kissed him, and patted his cheek.

“I want everything you have to offer, my precious lunatic,” he said. “Every sleepless night, every tear, every scream. I want it all. So fall apart as fully and as often as you need to. You cannot scare me away, and if things get too good, feel free to notify me and I’ll beat you with a stick.” He turned towards the cards. “Now, shall we see what gifts the house-elves have bestowed upon you? They seem quite sincere, and I’m certain they didn’t mean to make you feel like you were dead.”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry said, taking a large swallow of Champagne as Severus plucked one from the tray and turned it over in his hands. “Is it weird?” he asked. “I bet it’s weird. Dobby was always giving me weird stuff.” Severus held it up for him to see that it was, indeed, weird. The cover featured a truly bizarre illustration of a house-elf with a cleaver standing on top of a prone robed figure. 

“Perfectly normal,” Severus said, and opened it. _“‘Master Potter is leading the house-elves to fight tyranny. Snokey,’”_ he read. “True. Master Potter did do that.” He handed the card over, and Harry chuckled.

“Wow. Tyranny. Nice.”

“How about this one? I think it’s meant to be you.” He picked one sporting a blocky drawing of a bespectacled wizard with his arms held out in front of dancing blue flames. _“‘Master Potter destroy,’”_ Severus read. “Delightful. Signed, _‘Jipney.’”_ He handed that one to Harry, too, and Harry snorted and spilled some of his wine.

“Wow,” he said again. “Look at me. Destroying… and… making fire.”

“Very handsome. Everyone was quite justifiably impressed by that, I’m sure.” Severus picked up a third card, emblazoned with a figure in black standing before a figure on its knees with a very large spray of blood shooting out of it. “What art. Let’s see.” He opened it. _“‘Master Snape is a very scary man.’_ HA! Signed, _‘Topny.’”_ He put it aside. “I think I’d like to frame that one.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughed. “Let's put it in our living room so we can show it to company. Important that everyone knows how scary you are.” He reached out for another. “This one just says _‘oh no,’”_ he said, looking down at a drawing of an elf rendered in red with a missing leg. On the inside, there was another elf, but in blue, standing tall with its hands held up over its head. _“‘Heal!’”_ he read. “Signed, _‘Dorry.’”_ He looked up. “Did I heal some house-elves?”

“Oh, yes,” Severus answered. “About five, I think. Your friends handled most of the others.” He touched Harry’s cheek, and when Harry leaned into his hand, smoothed his hair down over his temple. “You don’t remember very much, do you?”

“Not too much, no,” Harry answered, and took up another card. “Just healing you and… um… Cho… and sort of…” he trailed off and looked at the card he’d chosen. “This one is definitely Kreacher. Look at his foot. And that’s me. I… think.” He squinted, and then read: _“‘Master Potter avenges Master Regulus. Master Potter is hero. ...Kreacher.’_ Oh.” He stared down at the words, and then took a shaky sip. “I - uh. I think I’m going to cry. I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t.”

“If you’re able, I think you should,” Severus answered lightly. “Better to let it out. Look at this one.” He held out a drawing of a horse with a man’s head and arms, opened it, and started to laugh.

“What?” Harry asked, snatching it from him. _‘“Horse-man bad. Do not arrow Master Snape.’_ Jeez. I mean, true, I guess. Signed, _‘Plinker.’”_ He turned it over. “Aw, look. It’s me.” He handed it back to Snape to show him the drawing on the back. A little Harry Potter with a war-bolt in his hand. _“‘Fix!’”_

“And fix it you did,” Severus answered. “One more.” He held out the last card, the largest of all, which showed a scattering of little elves of different sizes and styles on the front, with two larger, black-haired figures standing behind them. He read: _“War elves of Hogwarts School. Masters Potter and Snape. Win.”_ Underneath that scrawl, there were many names. Some of them neat, some very messy, and some just a cross or an _X._ Not all of the house elves could write, apparently. “Oh, we’re celebrities,” Severus said. “I do hope there’s a statue.”

Taking the card from his hand, Harry looked down at it and burst out laughing. And then, quite abruptly, into tears.

  
  



	4. Day One

Minerva woke up early with a headache. A  _ hangover, _ anyway, which she was not terribly accustomed to. So, the first thing she did upon waking, after showering and getting dressed of course, was rustle up a restorative. As it turned out, there was a single bottle of the stuff left in the damaged infirmary, though she had to use  _ accio _ to find it, as it had rolled underneath an upended bunk. But one was better than nothing, and after quaffing it, she stood for a while in the wreckage of Poppy’s pride and joy, and waited for her head to clear. 

The destruction was extensive. The Deatheaters had targeted the Hospital Wing almost immediately, which the defenders of Hogwarts had not expected. They should have, of course - obviously the type of combatant that would lay siege to a  _ school  _ would not abide by the rules of war - but they hadn’t, and Poppy had only barely escaped with her life. If she hadn’t had a guard detail, that would have been the end. And, of course, a large portion of their stock of medicinal potions and tools had been destroyed.

How many would have died, she wondered, if Harry hadn’t been quite so…

What was the right word? 

_ Capable?  _

He certainly had been capable. More magical and more courageous than Minerva could ever have imagined. 

_ Selfless, _ maybe? Harry certainly had been that, as well. Healing a whole queue of people, even after all he’d been through. He’d turned no one away, even when it might have been wise. Not even the bereaved. So, what did that leave?

_ … Holy? _

She didn’t like that thought much at all. Prophecy or no,  _ healings  _ or no, Harry was just a boy. The very same bespectacled boy that had been sorted into her house nearly seven years ago, and had stared around in such wonder at the  _ floating candles.  _ He was that same boy. And yet… she couldn’t deny that the term felt appropriate. After what she’d seen during the battle, and after… what other way was there to think of him, now? Particularly what he’d done for Miss Brown. That poor girl had been far beyond the help of usual magic, or even  _ expert _ magic, and without Harry, she would certainly have been horrifically disfigured for life. Or dead. But Harry had not just healed her. He hadn’t just closed her wounds and returned the functional use of her legs. He’d restored her to  _ perfection. _ She was a pretty girl, and very brave, and Harry had given her back her round cheeks, her full lips, and her sparkling eyes. And Minerva would never in her life forget the way Lavender had blinked up at Harry from her stretcher, and smiled. Her ravaged face whole again, and her eyes welling with tears.

It had been a miracle. 

There was no other way to describe it.

Righting one of the bunks with her wand, she sat on it, and looked out the window, thinking that she had never encountered a human soul like the one that lived inside Harry Potter, and that she had never met anyone with so much power, or so much patience, or so much kindness. And yet… somehow, Albus had been willing to sacrifice him. Somehow, Albus Dumbledore had looked at that boy and thought,  _ ‘expendable.’  _ Albus had made that bargain. And other bargains, too, as she now knew. 

She nudged a broken bottle with her boot, recalling the last time glass had littered the floor that way. The last time despair and pain had shattered the well-kept serenity of the Hospital Wing. Harry himself had lain in one of the beds that night - unconscious and soaked to the skin - and had awoken to the sight of Remus Lupin standing vigil over him, and had positively decompensated. 

_ ‘Don’t touch me!” _

That was what he’d said. And then he’d asked for Severus, hadn’t he? 

_ ‘Don’t touch me - where’s Severus? Don’t TOUCH ME!” _

And that  _ screaming. _

She shivered, and then remembered pulling Harry out of the common room to reprimand him for what he’d done to Mr. Malfoy. It felt like a hundred years ago, but she could still picture him clearly. His face parchment white, with dark shadows under his eyes, and a sunken, hollow look about him. She'd been concerned, and had asked him if he was ill, and he’d answered:  _ ‘I threw up a lot. Snape says I’m in shock.’ _

_ Snape says.  _

Severus had taken care of him that night, she knew that now. Severus had  _ ‘calmed him down,’  _ or so Harry said, and, apparently, Severus had done that many other nights, too.  _ Comforting  _ Harry. 

Had he comforted Harry when Ron Weasley was poisoned? Had he  _ comforted Harry  _ after he’d found Katie Bell out in the grounds? And what about before that? At Headquarters.  _ Comforting  _ him after his Godfather died. _ Soothing  _ him.  _ Pacifying  _ him. Making him  _ sleep.  _

She rubbed her eyes. 

It would do no good to torture herself that way, now. Harry was not interested in being questioned, nor was he interested in being separated from his  _ lover.  _ He had made that starkly, abundantly clear, and if anyone deserved her respect, it was Harry Potter. He had, as he’d said,  _ earned his privacy.  _ It did not matter if she approved of what he was doing, or what was being done to him. Harry did not require her approval, and he did not seem to want it, either. There was nothing to be gained by ruminating over the fact that Severus had very clearly been doing all kinds of things he was not supposed to be doing. 

So, she would do better to turn her mind away from it. 

But there was a small problem. For other than Harry, there was only one person to think about, now. Only one other elephant-sized mistake looming in her peripheral vision. 

And that person - that  _ mistake _ \- was Draco Malfoy.

Minerva McGonagall had never before thought of herself as a prejudiced person. She’d always considered herself strict, but fair. Her whole career, she’d striven to treat all houses, all blood-lines, all genders and races equally. And yet, somehow, when confronted with Draco’s clear distress, she had not seen a boy. She had seen a Deatheater. She had seen an enemy combatant, who had sown his own destruction. And what in God’s name did that say about her? Draco was not his father. Draco was not his master. Draco was a student, the way Harry had been a student. And was she not a shepherd of students? Had she not sworn to defend and teach and raise up each generation, no matter their allegiance? Had she not  _ sworn  _ to take responsibility for her charges? Protect them? Lead them by the hand down the right path, if she could?

So, she had been afraid of reprisal. So, she’d thought Severus an agent of the Dark Lord. So, she had turned her back on a seventeen-year-old boy with a black eye and a hunched, defeated posture, telling herself that it wasn’t worth it to step in. That the risks were too high, the benefits too slight. Telling herself that the other students needed her more than he did, and it would be too dangerous to speak. 

She smoothed her hands over her hair, though her bun was quite as neat as ever.

So.

She was a coward, which she had not known about herself. 

She was a coward.

What might she do about that, now? Now that the war was over, and they were all confronted with their awful choices? She supposed she could speak to Draco. Apologize. Offer… support, and comfort, if he would take them. And, of course, she could examine this incredible flaw she’d discovered in her heart and excise it - kill it - in the hopes that she would never again fail a child so grievously.

And she would. She would cut whatever had allowed her to do something so despicable right out of her heart. She would call Draco to her office to beg forgiveness, and she would gather the staff together and explain to them, too, what they had done.

But first she had to speak to Albus. 

The very thought of it made her stomach clench and roll unpleasantly, and she became abruptly aware that she had not eaten much over the last two days. That was a mistake. For even as a portrait, Albus was excellent at deflecting. If she made an attempt at a discussion now, he would certainly roll her under. She needed to be sharp.

Yes. After breakfast, she could demand answers. She could ask him the critical question that had chased her halfway down the bottle the night before. Her new question - one that had never before occurred to her, not in all the years she’d stood by that man’s side. 

Her question. 

_ Albus - what in God’s name is wrong with you? _

***

“Morning!” Charlie said brightly, plopping down across from Hagrid at one of the house tables. “How ya feelin’?” 

“M’alright,” Hagrid muttered, squinting morosely at him in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. “Bit too much ta drink.”

“I can see that,” Charlie laughed. He himself could hold his liquor better than most - part of dealing with Dragons for a living - and felt pretty good despite having stayed up half the night with George, who he’d found alone in the kitchen at three in the morning. Hagrid, however, looked like he’d been run over by a stampede of hippogriffs. 

“That’s what happens when you use a bucket for a glass,” Bill said, sitting next to his brother. “You can really put it away, mate. Impressive.” 

Hagrid just grumbled, and began dishing out great quantities of fried potatoes and absolutely nothing else, and Charlie headed for the bacon and scrambled eggs. Bill scanned the table for a moment, looking pretty revolted, before a platter of very under-done steak appeared directly in front of his seat, and he started.

“Wow!” he said. “Full service!”

“Must know you’re a weird half-werewolf,” Charlie muttered, while Hagrid eyed Bill’s bloody steak with a green sort of cast to his face. “House-elves always know, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but I mean… this is made to order. I s’pose when there’s hardly anyone in the castle it’s a bit easier.” 

They scanned the room. It was true - There were even fewer people in attendance at breakfast than there had been at dinner the night before. Slughorn in particular looked like he regretted his entire life up to that moment, and Trelawney did not show at all. No Aberforth, either, and no Ron or Hermione. That wasn't surprising, though. After they’d apparated to the Burrow, Ron had vomited spectacularly and then passed right out on the bathroom floor. Hermione hadn’t been particularly impressed by that, but she had taken him upstairs and mopped his brow very dutifully until Charlie told her to just leave him be and let him sleep it off. They probably wouldn’t appear until much later in the day, the lazy layabouts. But they’d come, and when they did, it would probably be with a request for news of Harry from his mother.

But there was none of that as of yet. No sign of Harry or Snape at all, which Charlie did not find surprising. But, he supposed,  _ Harry is happily hiding in the Dungeons,  _ would not satisfy his mum.

“No heroes, eh?” he asked, eyeing a knot of teachers near the far wall. “Bet they’re still sleeping.”

“Well  _ I’m here,”  _ Bill answered with a roguish grin. “I’m very heroic.”

“Yeah well if you want attention for it go home to  _ Fleur,”  _ Charlie answered, rolling his eyes. “She finds you  _ very impressive.”  _

“Yes she does,” Bill said. “Too bad there’s no one to find  _ you  _ impressive for your heroism, eh? EH? No one to watch you tackle a Deatheater and make  _ moon eyes  _ at you? Too bad. Ha ha.”

“I’m not a  _ narcissist,  _ my dear brother,” Charlie shot back. “I don’t need attention for my heroic deeds.” He gestured across the table. “And neither does  _ Hagrid.  _ Right Hagrid?”

“Er… no?” Hagrid grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Seemed like he had a migraine. 

“Well, I think you’re gonna get some attention, anyway,” Bill said. “If you can keep from acting like an arse for long enough to get your hands on some-”

“ANYWAY,” Charlie interjected, looking across the room to where Professors McGonagall, Vector, Sinistra, and Sprout were deep in conversation. “Funny to think the Dark Lord died  _ right there.”  _ He pointed towards the floor under their feet. “Just. Right there. Dead.”

“Yeah. You’d think there’d be a stain or something,” Bill answered lightly. “Wonder where Greyback kicked it. In here somewhere, too, yeah? Isn’t that what Ron said?” They looked around. “Said something about the bannisters and- oh  _ ho!” _ He elbowed Charlie so hard under the table that he gasped in pain.  _ “It's your new friend and his posh mum! Look!” _

_ “Oi, stop,”  _ Charlie hissed, but it was too late. The bastard was already waving.  _ “Bill for fuck’s-” _

“Malfoy!” Bill called, ignoring Hagrid’s grimace of pain. “Hey, Malfoy! We’ve got a spot over here if you don’t mind raw steak. C’mon. Always room for the  _ traitors!”  _ They watched as Draco looked over, saw who was calling him, and turned pink, and Bill elbowed Charlie again.  _ “Ha! Told you he was looking at you at dinner.”  _

_ “Shh!” _

_ “He’s coming over!” _

_ “I’m going to murder you in your s-” _

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Narcissa said, sitting gracefully and gesturing for Draco to join her as Hagrid grumbled something that sounded like a greeting.

“Morning, Mrs. Malfoy,” Charlie said, digging his fist into Bill’s thigh under the table to make him  _ shut the actual fuck up. _ “How did you two sleep? Any holes in the walls down in the Dungeons?”

“The Dungeons are quite intact, actually,” she answered. “Almost eerily so compared to the rest of the castle. Still as dark and chill as I remember, though. Just like being back in school. And please, call me Narcissa.”

“Narcissa,” Charlie answered, and looked at Draco, who was very resolutely examining his plate. “And you, Draco?” The tips of his ears turned red. Charlie saw it. Probably everyone saw it, actually. It was pretty obvious with his coloring. Draco was all porcelain and silver - hair so blonde it was almost white - and any blush was painfully visible. Well… perhaps ‘painfully’ wasn’t quite the right word.

“Oh, I slept very well,” Draco said to his cutlery. “Thank you.”

“Passed right out,” Narcissa added, reaching for a bowl of fruit. “Malfoys don’t tolerate red wine all that well, do they, darling?” She laughed airlily, and brushed her hair back. “Blacks, on the other hand…”

“Ha!” Bill answered. “That would explain Sirius’ hollow leg! Bloke used to drink me under the  _ table.” _ He glanced at Draco where he was carefully buttering a piece of toast, and then back at his brother. “And what are Malfoys built for?” he asked, and Charlie stepped on his foot. “I mean… what sort of alcohol.”

“Gin,” Narcissa said blandly. “So. Are the  _ lovebirds _ awake, or shall we consider them a lost cause?”

“Lost cause,” Bill answered. “Definitely. After what we saw at dinner, I doubt they’ll come up for air for a week.”

_ “Lovebirds,”  _ Draco muttered. “Say that in front of Professor Snape, mother, please.”

“Come now, darling, I’ve known that man since he was fourteen. He’s a romantic.”

_ “What?”  _ Draco demanded, finally looking up from his plate to deliver a cutting glare, but then something out the window caught his eye, and he squinted. “Hey… What is that?” he asked. “A storm cloud?” He pointed.

“A storm?” Charlie asked. “Nah. It’s May.” He turned around in his seat to follow his finger. “What, that? Huh.” He shielded his eyes. “Looks kind of like…” 

“OWLS!” Bill cried. 

“Merlin’s BEARD!” Hagrid gasped. “TAKE COVER!”

  
  


***

Minerva did not make it to the Headmaster’s office quite as early as she’d intended. Not until nearly eleven, in fact. For although she’d hoped to see Harry at breakfast, it was better that he hadn’t appeared. If he had, he would likely have been quite traumatized by the sheer quantity of letters that arrived with that morning’s post. As it was, it took her three hours to wrangle all the owls and get them to release their parcels into her care, and in that three hours, they quite destroyed the newly-repaired Great Hall with a mess of feathers, picked over and trodden-on food, and droppings. But finally, with the help of Hagrid, Filius, and a few others, she sent them all on their way. Then, sweaty and annoyed, she refastened her hair, picked the feathers out of her clothes, and steeled herself. 

It was time to cross the first awful thing off of her list. It was time to speak to Albus.

***

When Harry woke up it was bright, and he tried to turn over to hide his face, but couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all, really. Why… couldn’t he move? Where the  _ FUCK-  _

He jerked in alarm, and the arms around him tightened, and he was  _ trapped,  _ and a spike of adrenaline drove right into his brain. But then a sleepy voice spoke from behind him, and it was familiar, and he froze mid-struggle.

“It’s me,” Severus murmured, burrowing his face into his hair. “It’s me, love. It’s me. You’re alright.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, memory slowly trickling back into his head with the words. He wasn’t trapped. He couldn’t move because Severus was stronger than he was, and Severus was holding him, and he was in Severus’ bed, in the Dungeons. Because that was where he was staying now. In the Dungeons, with Severus. Right. 

He forced himself to relax back. 

“Oh,” he repeated. “...Hi.”

“Hello to you, too,” Severus answered, his voice a low, tectonic rumble. “Did you have a nightmare?” His hand splayed flat over Harry’s chest. “Your heart is racing.”

A nightmare? He wasn’t sure. He had a weird sort of impression of the color red, like a red glow, but nothing else. And red wasn’t a nightmare, was it? At least… not usually. 

“No,” he said, and Severus made a skeptical noise. “No. I just - You just… startled me. I don’t remember getting into bed.” Harry didn’t remember getting undressed  _ or  _ getting into bed, actually. But he certainly was both of those things, and so was Severus. Naked, and in bed. Together. 

“No, you wouldn't,” Severus answered. “You fell asleep on me in the living room. Rather unexpectedly, too.” 

That, Harry did sort of remember. The living room thing. 

Pretty embarrassing. 

“I was crying, huh?”

Severus hummed in assent and then inhaled deeply against his hair. “House-elves called you a hero. Too sweet. Upset you.”

“Jeez, sorry,” Harry whispered, snuggling back into his embrace. “I’m always crying all over you.” 

“No apologizing,” Severus answered, very obligingly curving his body further around him in response to his wriggling, tucking his knees up behind Harry’s legs and tugging him back firmly against his chest. He was like shelter in a storm. Warm, breathing shelter. Strong, and solid. Protection. “I encouraged it, in fact,” Severus continued. “You weep very attractively, and your vulnerability pleases me.” A chuckle started in Harry’s throat at that absurd comment, but it was cut off by a gasp as he felt Severus getting hard against the back of his thigh. And then  _ Severus _ chuckled, but the sound was dark, and low, and the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. “Oh, I see,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across Harry’s collarbone and towards his pulse point. “I think those may be non-nightmare heart palpitations.”

Severus’ cock was like a branding iron nestled up against his leg, noticeably hotter than the rest of his body, and Harry found himself rather suddenly consumed with the need to have it inside him. Now. Or possibly… five minutes ago.

Was Severus still talking?

“Uh - was that a question?” Harry managed. 

“Oh, are you having a hard time focusing?” Severus’s other hand appeared low on Harry’s belly, holding him still, and Harry felt a little spot of wetness appear and then smear against the back of his thigh, and yes. He was having a hard time focusing. And then Severus dropped his voice to a low growl, and what the fuck language was he even speaking? Not english, surely. “What can I do for you, Potter?” he asked, his fingers brushing maddeningly across Harry’s skin a centimeter from where he wanted it most. “Any special requests? Demands? You had quite a lot to say last night, as I recall. But you seem rather more subdued at the moment. Shall I just take what I want from you? I know how much you enjoy that.” Harry’s brain reconnected very suddenly at that last question, and he shivered so violently that Severus apparently found it funny. “My, that was fast. I think he likes my voice.” He trailed his fingers very gently up the underside of Harry’s cock, and spoke directly into his ear. “I think he likes it when I  _ speak to him.” _

Harry was almost embarrassed by the noise he made. Or he would have been, if he hadn’t already laid bare his soul hundreds of times at Severus’ bidding. But he had, and Severus could skin him alive as far as he was concerned. Whatever he wanted. Anything. 

“Are - you - expecting me to make words?” he breathed. “Or can I just… green.”

Severus kissed his neck and then bit gently down on the spot. “I’m afraid I must insist on a few words, my love,” he said. “I think that you are likely very sore.” He closed his fingers around Harry’s cock and gave it a languid tug. “So my question is, are you  _ too _ sore?” He stroked his thumb over the head. “Hm? Pay attention.” He repeated the caress, and Harry pressed into his hand with a little whine.  _ “Harry.” _

Harry tried hard to remember what he’d asked, and to produce a coherent answer. Instead of just… wretched begging. Which was what was filling his brain. Maybe he could just beg? Sometimes that was enough. Didn’t seem like it would be right now, though. “Ah - what - what does, ‘too sore’ mean?” he finally asked, and Severus’ hand tightened like that was the wrong answer.

“What a question,” he growled. “I nearly split you in half last night, and you want to play games?” He released Harry’s cock and slid his hand lower to cup his balls, rolling them in his fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Fuck-” Harry gasped, trying to arch into his touch. “C’mon, please - I’m not playing games. I’m not - not sore. I swear.”

Severus nuzzled up against the back of his ear. “Lie,” he whispered. “I know exactly what I did to you. Tell the truth, now.” He closed his free hand around Harry’s throat, tipping his head back, and the rush of desire that flooded through Harry’s body at the small movement was absolutely  _ blinding.  _ “I’m going to give you one more chance, love. Are you sore?”

“Yes,” Harry gasped. “I’m sore.”

“And are you sorry for lying?”

_ “Yes.”  _ Harry didn’t really know what he was agreeing to.

“I know you are,” Severus murmured, caressing the side of his neck with pads of his fingers. “Truth is always better. Now. Listen carefully. Do you want me anyway? Even though I was so very hard on you yesterday? Even though I made you scream?”

“Yes.”  _ Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. _

“Try again.”

“Yes, sir.”  _ YES YES YES. _

“Mm.” 

Severus’ hand left his throat, and then returned with his wand, touching the tip to his skin. Harry tried to make an encouraging noise, too, but it devolved into a hiss as the lubrication filled him and he realized how sore he really was. It stung, and tingled, and he tried to remember how many times he’d been fucked like that in the last year. 

Once? 

Jesus. 

Two of Severus’ fingertips dipped inside his body like he was testing the water, and Harry squeaked and tensed, unsure if he wanted to press back or shrink away. 

“My my,” Severus purred. “I really did a number on you, didn’t I? You’re so-” His breath caught in his chest as his fingers sank into Harry’s body to the knuckle with hardly any resistance at all. Or maybe that had been Harry’s own breath catching. He didn’t know. “Oh, look how open you are,” Severus continued, sliding his fingertips against the inside of Harry’s body. “How  _ obscene.”  _ He began to draw little circles, searching, and Harry stiffened and cried out as lights popped behind his closed eyelids almost immediately. Severus always knew just how to touch him. God. “What a sweet little noise that was. What color are you?” 

“Green,” Harry answered weakly as his fingers withdrew.  _ “Green.” _

“I hope you realize how incredibly persuasive that tone is,” Severus said, holding him steady with both hands. “You’re like the imperius curse come to life. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” Harry gasped, and finally, he began to press inside. And Severus was right. Harry  _ was _ open, and it  _ was _ obscene, and all it took was a little pressure, and the slow glide of hard, unyielding flesh, and Harry was filled absolutely to the brim. And then Severus made a noise, too. A low moan, right in his ear, and Harry’s body exploded with goosebumps.

“Ohh, god,” he breathed, and Severus paused.

“Too much?” he asked, and when Harry shook his head  _ no, _ kissed his shoulder. “Good. I’m going to be gentle with you now, and you’re going to allow it.” He withdrew and rocked forward, once. “Do you understand?”

Harry just moaned pitifully, a fuzz of static drifting down over his thoughts like a wool blanket. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, sir,” Severus continued, repeating the movement. “Can you say, ‘yes, sir,’ for me?”

“Yes - sir-” Harry managed, and Severus exhaled across the back of his neck in satisfaction.

“What a good boy.” He rolled his hips a third time, carefully, tenderly, and then very gradually began to find a rhythm. It was slow, and deep, and sensual - warm with affection - liquid like the heavy drip of honey from a spoon - and Harry was beyond static. He was  _ lightheaded. _ “Welcome to day one,” Severus continued softly. “How does it feel to wake up in my bed, hm? And with no classes to tear you away. No one to pretend for. How does it feel?” When Harry didn’t answer, he returned his hands to where they had been, one around Harry’s cock and the other around his throat, and squeezed both. “I want you to stay present while I’m making love to you, Harry,” he said. “You can go into the fog later. Answer me, now. I want to hear your voice.” Harry swallowed, and Severus tightened the hand around his neck, pressing his thumb up under his jaw. “How does it feel? Speak.” It was his fingernail digging in that managed to clear a space in Harry’s mind to say anything at all, though it felt like his mouth was answering before his brain could formulate a coherent thought.

“Like - I’m home,” was what came out of him, and Severus made a sound like that wasn’t what he’d been expecting. 

“Home?” he asked, and when Harry nodded against his hand, rolled him onto his belly without even pulling out.  _ “Yes,”  _ he hissed, and draped his full weight over Harry’s back, holding him to the bed, rocking his hips, withdrawing just enough to slide back in _.  _ “You are home. You came home. To -  _ me.”  _ He thrust a little harder, but then Harry yelped, and he froze. “Oh - am I - hurting you?” His voice was unbearably rough - gravely with sleep, and passion, and the effort of staying still - and another flood of heat poured down Harry’s spine, dragging an answer out of him by force.

“No,” he choked out, trying to press up - to press back - to make him keep going. “Don’t stop -  _ please-” _

Severus held his head to the bed. “Focus,” he demanded. “Am I hurting you?”

_ Oh, god. Answer him. Say the right answer. _

“Yes,” Harry gasped. “A little bit - but. It’s good. Please don’t stop. Please.”

Severus’ grip relaxed, and his head dropped forward to rest on Harry’s back. “Mercy,” he groaned. “I want to keep you in bed for a  _ month.”  _ He resumed his steady pace, his breath cooling the sweat that was gathering on Harry’s back. “A year.  _ Ten  _ years. You-” His words sheared off, and he inhaled raggedly, and Harry suddenly realized how hard he was fighting to keep his movement controlled. It was radiating out of the tension of his legs braced against the bed, and out of his short, shallow breaths. Severus was fighting. But more than that. He was struggling. He was  _ losing. _ And that was… rare. 

“Yes,” Harry said again. To what? It didn’t matter. Just yes. Yes to everything. “Severus -  _ yes.”  _ A curtain of dark hair swung into his peripheral vision as Severus surged forward, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head to take some of his weight.

_ “Merlin,” _ he moaned. “Merlin - I -  _ missed you - mh - so - terribly-” _ A powerful tremor ran through him, and Harry gasped and grabbed the headboard as the even tempo of his thrusts began to degrade, growing sharper, harder, more syncopated - his control slipping right through his fingers like sand. “Would have  _ followed you - a-anywhere - oh -”  _ He broke off, shuddering like a fucking  _ stallion,  _ and Harry lay very still, his eyes wide, watching in paralyzing awe as Severus’ hand fisted in the sheets by his head, a ripple of brute strength cording the muscles of his forearm and turning his knuckles white. And then his hips snapped forward, hard, and he cried out, and Harry’s cock pulsed in painful sympathy where it was pressed into the mattress.

His heart was pounding. Because Severus was coming inside him  _ right now, _ and somehow, Harry hadn’t ever really just…  _ listened _ like that before. They’d been apart for so long - and usually he was too busy trying to put his own brain back into his skull to appreciate the full magnitude of Severus Snape falling absolutely apart. 

But he was appreciating it now. Yes he was.

What an experience.

“Jesus,” he breathed as Severus sagged over him, panting. “Jesus, Severus. You are so -  _ hot.” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Harry get off? No.
> 
> Is he gonna? Yup. 
> 
>   
> P.s. pls comment. Comments keep me alive.
> 
> Discord Server for extras and discussion: https://discord.gg/haBKKFm


	5. The Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beloved readers. I have good/bad news. I have a job again, which is good because I need money to live, but bad because I would like to stay home and write Pacify all day like I have been for the last 3 months. 
> 
> Please be patient with my updates! Every 2 days is definitely not feasible any more, but you can expect maybe every 5-7 days. 
> 
> And, as always, please comment!
> 
> p.s. I made a small change to chapter 4 during the "breakfast" scene to more accurately reflect the realities of war.

“Good day Minerva,” Albus said brightly. “You’ve a pinfeather in your bun. Trouble with the post?”

Minerva scowled at his chipper tone. “Just a bit of mail for Mr. Potter,” she said tightly, perching on the edge of the desk facing him. She left the feather. 

“Oh, lovely,” Dumbeldore answered, clapping his hands together. “How is he? I was hoping he’d come to visit with me soon.”

“Did you?” Minerva asked, thinking, _you machiavellian fiend._

“Yes. I’ve heard from my fellows that he was quite impressive during the battle, but nothing as to how he is faring now.”

“Oh, yes, he was quite impressive. But as for how he is doing just now, I’m afraid I’d have to ask Severus. If he ever resurfaces.”

“Ah, Severus,” Albus sighed. “I understand he was rather impressive as well. A fitting end for Tom Riddle, don’t you think? Bled to death on his knees? Practically poetic.” He chuckled lightly. “Severus always did have a flair for the dramatic. Quite a character, that man.” He looked at Minerva like he expected her to laugh, too. But she did not laugh, and after a moment, his smile faded. “Here to shout at me, are you?” he asked, scrutinizing her over his spectacles. “You might find it a waste of time, as I am, in fact, a painting.” His smile returned, and Minerva scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Shall I disinter your body for the _shouting,_ then?” she asked, and then, realizing that he was trying to distract her, scowled and looked out the window. She was not going to allow Albus to distract, or deflect, or disarm her. Not today. No matter how hard he tried. 

She spoke over him when he opened his mouth to rejoin. 

“Albus,” she said firmly. “You _knew.”_

“My dear Minerva,” Albus answered. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I know quite a lot of things. Even now, in my relatively reduced state, I’m practically an encyclopedia.” His eyes twinkled. It made her angry. How did he dare _twinkle_ at her like that, now that she knew what he’d done? How did he dare twinkle at all? He should be _ashamed._ Cringing and apologizing in his frame. 

But there he was _twinkling._

She stood up.

“Like me to be specific, would you?” she demanded. “Fine. Severus Snape has been _sleeping with a student,_ and you _knew._ You, Albus-” She pointed into his face. “Allowed a Hogwarts Professor to carry on a sexual liaison with one of your charges. You knew, and you did nothing to stop it. No, less than nothing. You _facilitated it._ You lied to the Governors. You falsified records. YOU- _”_ She broke off and made a fist, trying not to explode. She’d hoped she wouldn’t, but now that she’d begun it felt impossible to hold it back. And why be polite? Albus Dumbledore, it seemed to her, had forfeited his right to courtesy. “You lied right to _my face,”_ she continued. “You lied _to all of us._ Hundreds of times. You told us to trust you - to trust Severus - to turn a blind eye - even when it was _so clear!_ I saw the way Potter was looking at him. How they were looking at each other. I saw what was _happening to him._ How many times did I ask? ‘What is going on with Potter? Is Potter alright? Why is he behaving that way? He doesn’t seem to be sleeping, Albus, he isn’t eating, Albus, his classwork is suffering, Albus. He has no interest in _anything,_ Albus.’ And _what did you tell me? What did you tell me, you despicable liar?”_

Albus gazed calmly at her, seemingly unaffected by her accusations, or her tone. “I told you that Harry preferred to deal with Severus, and that Severus was managing his treatment. Which he was.”

“Managing his _TREATMENT!”_ Minerva howled. “That man was _fucking him!”_ She stopped, flushed, and cleared her throat. “Pardon my language.” She took a deep breath. “They were having an _affair.”_

“It seems so.”

 _“IT SEEMS SO, DOES IT?”_ She burst out, and started striding around the room in agitation. “Yes, it certainly does! And WHAT? You allowed it? Those _bracelets?_ All those _detentions._ Detention every Saturday for the rest of term! Very reasonable. And then Severus _killed you,_ and fled the school, and, what? They fell in _love?_ Ridiculous!” She whirled around. “Explain to me how you could have allowed a relationship like that to develop,” she demanded. _“Explain it to me!”_

***

_“‘Hot?’”_ Severus asked with a breathless laugh. He was still hard, but softening, and he gave Harry a little more while he still could, squeezing a single thready whimper out of him. “What nonsense.” 

“Not n-nonsense,” Harry managed as Severus pulled out. “I should say it out loud when I think it more, so you - oh.” Severus flipped him onto his back and threw off the covers. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying you,” Severus answered, sliding down so that his mouth was level with Harry’s prick. “You’re my prize, If you haven’t noticed, and I plan on making thorough and frequent use of you. And what kind of lover would I be if I left you like _this?”_ He looked pointedly at Harry’s cock curving up against his belly, and then mouthed at his inner thigh, giving him a little teeth and dropping his voice. “As if I could stand to leave you so unsatisfied.” Harry’s head fell back against the pillows and he spread his legs.

“And you say you’re not _hot,”_ he muttered to the ceiling.

“Well, I’ve heard terrifying, vindictive, and petty,” Severus murmured, brushing his lips against Harry’s shaft. “Bend your knees for me.” Harry did, and then gasped as Severus slid two fingers back into him, unerringly seeking out his prostate and pressing against it. “I’ve heard _greasy git,_ Deatheater _scum-”_ Licking a stripe up the length of Harry’s cock and over the head, he looked up at Harry watching him. “Back-stabbing coward. Deviant. Traitor. Killer. _Sadist._ Never _‘hot.’”_

“That is _so hot,”_ Harry moaned. “You’re so - fucking _hot.”_

“Hush, you insolent brat,” Severus answered, and closed his lips around Harry’s cock, his fingers slipping lewdly in the mess of lubrication and come dripping out of him. Severus was going to wring him absolutely dry. Maybe get him off in the shower afterwards, too. Wash his hair, and his body, and play with him until his knees buckled. See how _hot_ he thinks that is. 

“I won’t hush,” Harry said, his voice strangled and his hands tangling into Severus’ hair. “You have to just hear it now that you’re my - p- _partner._ Ah - god - I thought you were h-hot when I was _twelve years old -_ I - told you, didn’t I? Bloody _dueling club._ It was _so scary_ and you were _so_ _hot._ Standing over that _ponce_ like the angel of death - _fuck_ -” Severus sank his mouth deeper and Harry broke off, thrusting up against the back of his throat, and Severus thought about holding him down, but decided to allow it and swallowed instead. “And when you - _grabbed my neck_ at Headquarters and told me _no -_ that was so hot I - almost - fucking - _came in_ my _trousers-_ right in your _lap - God._ I was _so close-_ If you’d - touched me _at all-”_

Severus opened his eyes, wondering if Harry was trying to tease him. It seemed rather like he was, so he glanced up to see. But Harry’s expression was not teasing, and as their eyes met, Harry’s hips jerked up and he let out a very shocked-sounding cry. 

“Fuck _me_ that’s hot _too,”_ he whimpered. “Severus - _fuck -_ you have _no idea-”_

Definitely not teasing, then. Sincerely waxing poetic about getting manhandled at Headquarters. So Severus glared at him, pressing his fingers harder into his body and working him with his tongue, determined to make him stop babbling, but Harry responded by holding his head down and letting out yet another flood of profanity and nonsense. Something about _Occlumency Lessons_ and _fear_ and _embarrassment_ and _getting so hard it hurt,_ and Severus paused in his ministrations, a new little frisson of arousal trickling through him. 

Got hard during Occlumency lessons, did he? How… fascinating. 

He supposed they had been rather violent. 

“...the way you _spoke to me._ Like fucking _velvet_ sweet _Jesus-”_

He spared a thought for the image of Harry taking care of that little problem - maybe in a shower somewhere, as he himself had done at Headquarters, desperately trying to purge his lust after having Harry in his lap - and then turned his attention back to his task. Circling his fingertips, he stroked his thumb up against the tender skin of Harry’s perineum, and Harry went rigid with a choked yelp of surprise, thrusting up, once, twice, and starting to spurt into his mouth. His hands fisted tight, and he moaned something about sandalwood and scotch and potions fumes, and Severus swallowed and swallowed again, relishing the incoherence and wondering how in the world he had ever found Harry Potter anything less than painfully charming. He supposed he’d had to work quite hard at maintaining his animosity, which would explain how abruptly it had crumbled once he’d been faced with an out-of-context Potter. Particularly one _in his lap_ at _midnight._

Harry fell back to the bed, gasping, and Severus gentled his mouth and fingers, but did not pull off just yet. Instead, he continued sucking gently on him, feeling as the tension and passion drained from his body, and wondering if he could get him hard again without even letting him go. That might be an enjoyable challenge. Just keep pulsing his fingers until he recovered, and then suck him off again.

 _“Fuck-”_ Harry gasped, giving a little twitch, and finally, Severus released him. He was trying to _restore_ Harry, after all. He could turn him inside out later, after he was back to full strength. Pump him full of magic and get him off as many times as he could stand.

“Mm,” he murmured, wiping his mouth and then pressing another kiss to Harry’s trembling thigh. “I think you just told me your life story. Who knew you had such strong feelings for me all this time? And I smell good, do I? How kind of you.”

“Don’t - make - fun of me,” Harry panted. “I was - confused - before. Hated you. _Hated_ you.”

Severus rested his chin on his clean hand, gazing up at him from under half-closed eyelids. “And yet…” 

Harry laughed. “Like you’ve never wanted to fuck someone you hate.” 

“Touché,” Severus answered, summoning his wand to his hand to clean them up. But yet again, two flew to him. “For god sake,” he said, tossing the Elder Wand aside in exasperation. “I’ll have to lock that bloody thing in a drawer. Filthy Deathstick.”

“You don’t want it?” Harry asked, propping himself up on his hands. 

“No I do not. And why should I?” Severus pointed his own wand at the mess they’d made of each other and the bedclothes. _“Scourgify.”_

“Because it’s the Elder Wand,” Harry answered. “It’s a Hallow. It’s priceless.”

“As if the _Deathly Hallows_ have ever accomplished anything other than making you insane.”

“It’s unbeatable.”

“No, _you_ are unbeatable,” Severus countered. “That wand is nothing but a magnet for assassination, as evidenced by all of its previous owners being very dead.”

Harry leaned back against the headboard. He was stark naked, and did not seem to care in the slightest. Quite an admirable quality, in Severus’ opinion. “I suppose you’d know,” he said, and Severus scowled at him. 

“Yes, I suppose I would. And, secondary to the fact that it would be a terrible twist of fate for some random stranger to try to kill me for that wand, the Dark Lord held it in his _hideous spider fingers,_ so I despise it on principle.” 

Harry chuckled. “I guess that makes sense. You wanted him dead even more than I did.”

“Yes, I certainly did. More time to develop the _hate,_ you know.” He sneered at the Elder Wand and then flicked it off of the bedclothes with his foot. “My animosity ages like a fine wine.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll wanna go again,” Harry answered, grinning mischievously at him. “You know how much it turns me on when you’re _vindictive.”_

Severus rolled his eyes. Maybe he should have just gotten him off twice. Right in a row. Just… magicked his arms to the headboard and dragged another one out of him. “You, my little nymphomaniac, need to take a shower.” He stood, and offered his hand, and Harry looked at his palm for a long moment. 

“Gonna wash my hair?” he asked.

“Yes of course,” Severus answered. “And the rest of you.” 

***

“You lied to the Governors to keep them from sacking Severus for _molesting a student_ specifically because you needed him to _murder you?”_ Minerva demanded.

“Yes.”

“That is… revolting.”

“War often is.”

Minerva stared back at him, disgusted. “And Harry’s suicide attempt? What of _that_ , Albus? My God, I should have stepped in after that meeting. It was so _obvious.”_ She clapped her hand to her forehead. “The way Severus _touched him!_ Right in front of me! And you had the gall to tell me the Governor’s conclusions like they were _true._ Oh, yes, an inappropriate degree of _affection,_ an obsessive desire to _protect,_ he loved Harry’s _mother,_ Minerva. He sees Harry’s _trauma,_ Minerva. He holds space for Harry’s _mental illness!”_ She let out a bark of shrill laughter. “How I could have believed you that the relationship wasn’t sexual! Lord in heaven. When we came to check on Harry yesterday evening he was wearing nothing but one of Severus’ shirts! And the marks on his neck at dinner! And the _flowers_ and _whispering -_ And - and that man has the audacity to claim - to expect me to _believe_ that it began _after he fled the school!_ As if that even matters. I saw they way he-” She stopped suddenly, and blanched. “The way he… reacted… when…” She trailed off, staring unseeing at the wall. _The way he reacted when he thought Harry was gone._

“Yes, Minerva?” Albus prompted her. “Do please continue to eviscerate me for mistakes I made before my death. I’m quite enjoying it. It’s making me feel terribly relevant.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting desperately to control her temper against the explosion of horror inside her. “Severus told me that you expected Harry to die,” she said slowly. “That you _intended_ for him to die. That it was necessary to win the war. That he was… a sacrifice.”

“Yes.”

“Severus argued with you.”

“Oh, yes. Many times. Gave me quite a tongue lashing. He has such a talent for creative insults.” Albus chuckled, and Minerva opened her eyes to see that the room was blurry with tears.

“Tell me you didn’t let it go on because you thought Harry wasn’t going to survive the war,” she began, her voice suddenly drained of all fury. “Albus - _please_ tell me you didn’t allow it because you thought Harry wouldn’t live long enough for the damage to matter. You can’t have done that to him. You… can’t have.”

Albus was silent. 

***

“What’s this?” Harry asked, picking up a rust colored scrap of parchment from the bathroom counter and inspecting it. “Gross. Is this blood?” Severus came over to see. 

“Oh, that’s your awful note,” he said, plucking it from his hands and opening it to show the single word inscribed there: _‘Live.’_ “I despise it, and I plan to keep it forever.”

Harry looked down at it, aghast. “That’s _your_ blood?” 

“Yes,” Severus answered. “From the arrow. I think it adds character.” He pulled Harry back against him, and looked at him in the mirror. “Just like your bruises. Very striking.” Harry looked up, too, to see a constellation of purple bite marks all over his neck and chest. 

“Oooh,” he said, touching one high up on his throat. “Did I go to dinner like that?”

“You most certainly did. And everyone looked quite _askance_ at me.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll get some questions,” Harry said, tilting his head this way and that, inspecting the bruises under his jaw. “You’re so… bitey,” he said.

 _“‘Bitey?’”_ Severus repeated back, raising an eyebrow at him.

“It's what Hermione called you. After that night on the beach. She said you were _bitey.”_

“Oh. Yes. Like a shark,” Severus murmured and bit the tip of his ear. Harry shivered against him and Severus watched the hairs on his arms stand up. “My goodness. Have you always been this easy?”

Harry smacked him. “Don’t try to distract me. I want to talk about this.” He looked back down at the note. “Do you really want to keep it? I mean… that was pretty awful. Maybe we should… burn it, or bury it, or something. Get rid of it, anyway.”

“No,” Severus answered. “It was awful, and painful, and I have no desire to pretend that we haven’t gone through the things we have.” He dipped his head to kiss Harry’s shoulder. “Down that road lies madness.”

“I guess,” Harry said, and sighed. “I just… can’t believe I did that to you. Left you on the floor like that.”

“It was necessary,” Severus answered. “There was no way for you to know you were going to live, and you did what you thought you had to. But it hardly matters now. We’re together, and if you can forgive me for leaving you in the grounds, I can forgive you for leaving me on the floor.” He gave Harry’s hair an affectionate ruffle, and then moved away to turn on the shower. 

“I am sorry, though,” Harry continued, watching him adjust the heat. “Even if I had to do it. I didn’t have to be so…”

“Forceful?” 

“I was going to say cruel.”

Severus turned to look at him. “What you did was not cruel, Harry. It was _necessary,”_ he repeated, drawing Harry into the shower and pushing him under the spray. “That was hardly a convenient moment for me to fall utterly to pieces.” He began pouring shampoo into his palm. “When they _rennervated_ me I was so hysterical Mr. Weasley had to slap me.”

Harry spluttered in the water. “What?” he coughed. “In the _face?”_

“No, in the arm,” Severus answered, rolling his eyes and taking hold of Harry’s head. “Of _course it was in the face._ Hold still you’ll get soap in your mouth.” 

“Wow,” Harry said, relaxing back as Severus set to lathering his hair. “You should have told McGonagall about _that_ when she was giving you a hard time for being rough with me. He slapped you? Mad bastard. Someone should give him a punch card for assaulting teachers.”

“How many times has he hit Lupin?” Severus asked conversationally, scratching his nails gently across Harry’s scalp, eliciting a sigh, and then another little shiver. He liked those shivers a lot, and tried to get another one. “Or was it just the once?”

“Mm,” Harry murmured. “I think it was just the once, though he got pretty close a few other times. Shoved him twice… I think… And sort of… dragged him off of me.”

Severus paused. “What do you mean _‘dragged him off?’”_

“Hm?” Harry asked, tilting his head back into Severus’ fingers. “Oh. Well, he’s gotten pretty upset with me. Lupin, I mean. Kind of… grabbed me. Shook me, like I told you through the bracelets. He did it a few times.” There was a silence, and Harry continued quickly. “He never hit me or anything, though. He was just sort of… trying to make me listen to him, I think.”

“I see,” Severus said, thinking that he should have cursed Remus when he had the chance, and that Ronald Weasley was a good and loyal friend. “Well, it sounds like Lupin rather deserved his broken jaw. As for my own share of Mr. Weasley’s wrath, Minerva already knows he slapped me. She saw it. She was there.” Harry gasped, and Severus rather unceremoniously dunked him under the water to rinse. “Yes, quite humiliating,” he continued, scrubbing the suds out of Harry’s hair. “She and your friends all witnessed what I’m sure was a truly spectacular breakdown. When I saw your note, and the yarrow, I quite lost my mind.” 

Harry pulled away from his hands and turned around, sweeping his wet hair back from his face to look at him. “I didn’t want to do that,” he said. “I didn’t want to - hurt you like that.”

***

“I’ll have your Order of Merlin stripped,” Minerva said tightly. “My God.”

“Oh, I’m far beyond those sorts of concerns now, Minerva,” Albus answered. “I’m dead and buried. Rake my memory through the coals like Rita Skeeter, if it pleases you. I daresay this would make a best-seller. It would ruin Harry’s life, of course, but perhaps that concern is secondary to you.”

“My _God-”_ Minerva repeated, scrubbing her hands over her face and then looking down at her palms in disgust. “I thought -” she broke off, and swallowed. “I thought you were a good man, Albus. I - I _trusted you.”_

“I do apologize for disappointing you, though I hope you take comfort in the fact that I am in a box.”

Minerva scoffed coldly. “I take no comfort in that. Oh, and Severus wanted me to tell you that he hopes you’re in hell.”

“That is quite in keeping with his general mood for the last few months, I must say. Hopefully his attitude towards me will soften now that Harry’s alive. I’m sure he’s quite obnoxiously elated.” 

“He is,” Minerva said, glaring out at the grounds. “After our meeting, he picked Harry up and carried him right out the door.”

Albus chuckled. “What a scoundrel.”

“I believe the term he used was _villainous rogue.”_ She sighed and rubbed her eyes again, wishing for another restorative, or another drink. But she supposed it wasn’t quite late enough in the day for the latter - particularly not if she wanted to get anything else done - and there was none to be found of the former. “I suppose you’re going to try to tell me that you meant for this to happen.”

“Which part?”

***

“Harry,” Severus said, holding his face in both hands. “I know. I know you didn’t want to hurt me. You never want to hurt anyone.”

“But I _did,”_ Harry insisted, turning his face away when Severus tried to kiss him. “I hurt you - I made you _cry._ And when you begged me, I just _left._ I _left you.”_

“No,” Severus said, kissing his cheek, instead, and wrapping both arms around him under the warm spray. “You didn’t leave me. You saved me. If you hadn’t kept me from following you, it would have been a death sentence.” Harry let out a strangled sound half-way between a laugh and a sob, and pressed his face into Severus’ neck.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” he said. “And - and - afterwards, out in the castle, you were all I could think about. I tried so hard not to, I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to go through with it if I kept thinking about you. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop. I just-” He gasped, and Severus held him tighter, slicking his hands over his wet hair and through the water pouring down his back, fearful of what he was about to say. “I just - I wanted to - make you _proud.”_

Severus’ breath fled him in a rush as a ripple of sudden and shattering fragility sprayed out from what felt like the center of his chest. 

_I just wanted to make you proud._

He knew this feeling. Dear god, it was the _cracks._ He thought he was finished with the _cracks._ There was no surface to carry them, now. He’d abandoned all of his barriers in the shack - every single one - and his mind was completely unguarded for the first time in seventeen years. But somehow, here was that same sensation, so strong and so bizarre that he nearly recoiled. It was the very same lacework of fault lines that had so tormented him for the last year - but Merlin, without his barriers, it was _everywhere._ Freed from the layer of magic and sheer willpower he’d so carefully cultivated, it was all the way down to his toes.

The _frailty._

What did that mean? What in God’s name were the cracks even _in?_ His _soul?_

He pressed his lips to Harry’s wet hair and squeezed his eyes shut against the bursting, tearing, splintering sensation inside of him, wondering if there was something wrong with him. If, perhaps, he’d spent so much time covering his mind in armor that it hadn’t all come off. But then, holding Harry that way in the water, he had a thought. And that thought was that he had felt this before, and that it had nothing to do with Occlumency.

Because he’d felt it clutching Harry to his chest as the Dark Lord’s voice rang out over the grounds, giving Harry one hour to live. He’d felt it on his knees after they’d come out of the Pensive, his eyes closed, and Harry’s lips forming terrible words against his skin - _You stayed with me as long as you could. You were so brave not to run. But now it’s my turn, ok?_ He’d felt it watching Harry, incoherent with exhaustion, poke one finger out of the bedclothes to beckon to him after it was all over. 

And he’d felt it another night, too. Another night with Harry in his bed, a long time ago. That shattering, tearing weakness. He’d felt it the night he realized with a spasm of horror that he was in love. That he _loved_ the damaged, drunk, sixteen-year-old boy unconscious in his bed, and that there would be no going back, no turning away, no matter what happened.

With his barriers in place, these sudden explosions of adoration had left chasms and canyons and sinkholes that needed repair. There was none of that now, but he supposed the new openness in his mind did not change the fact that Harry Potter could peel him absolutely apart. 

It just meant… he was allowing it. 

And he was allowing it. He welcomed it, really.

No matter that it hurt. No matter that it felt like weakness.

He could take it.

“I am proud,” he said.

***

“They do seem to be quite ardently in love,” Minerva said, and grimaced. “Though I am having difficulty accepting it.”

“Moral outrage has its place, occasionally,” Albus allowed. “But, no. I cannot take credit for that outcome. At the time, it was merely my desire to keep Severus in the fold. I knew that I had only months - a year, at most - and so would be unable to guide Harry to his destiny, as had been my intention.”

“To his _grave,_ you mean,” Minerva interjected, and Albus inclined his head.

“To win the war, yes,” he answered. “In any case, I was not confident that Severus would be willing to guide him. Severus has never felt much loyalty to me, you see, and after those disastrous Occlumency lessons, I was concerned that he felt no loyalty to the boy, either. So.” He raised one hand in an elegant shrug. “When an opening appeared to tie them together, I took it. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I might have ruined my own plot by letting it go too far.”

“And what do you mean by _too far?”_ Minerva demanded, and Albus steepled his fingers together. 

“Those two are more alike than anyone supposes, Minerva. I sought to create attachment. Loyalty, as I’ve said. But I underestimated Severus’ capacity for _love._ Quite a flaw in my plan, really. I’d assumed that his hatred for Lord Voldemort was entrenched enough to make him willing to sacrifice Harry in the end, no matter how _involved_ they became. But I was incorrect. He did everything he could to thwart me. He examined every avenue. He followed any thread that might have led anywhere other than that boy’s casket. He shouted at me. Cursed at me.” He paused, and examined his own painted hands. “After my death - after Severus fled the castle - Harry did not speak to him for six months. Severus was beyond distraught. He was heartbroken. He was like a ghost.” He looked back up at her. “I did not set out to do what has been done. But that relationship is not just _passion,_ Minerva _._ Severus is not merely _infatuated_ with Harry, nor is he merely _obsessed._ It is my belief that, should Harry have failed to return, he would have thrown himself on the pyre without a second thought.” He hesitated. “At this point, I do not think they can be separated without incredible damage. Nor do I think it would be wise to try.”

Minerva gave him a cold stare and let the silence stretch. And then, finally, she stood. 

“Hoping for their forgiveness, are you?” she asked, smoothing her robes down. “I am not a _student,_ Albus, and you cannot manipulate me into doing your _emotional labor._ If you ever want Harry to speak to you again, I suggest you find a way to beg him yourself, as I will not lift a finger to influence him.” She turned away, suddenly overcome with the urge to fling the portrait off the wall. To cut it to shreds. Burn it. Throw it in the sea. And in feeling that sudden potential for violence within herself, she understood, just a little, why Severus might have seen Harry suffering in Number Twelve and been concerned that no one else would help him, if that was really how it had happened. 

She herself, like many others, had thought that Albus was taking care of him. She’d thought Albus had Harry’s best interests at heart, and that she knew what sort of man Albus was. But she’d been wrong, she could see that now. She’d been wrong about everything, and standing in that familiar office, she realized that she had never known Albus Dumbledore for even a single moment. She’d been blissfully following along in the wake of a man that would stand a teenage boy in front of a train if it suited his purposes, and from that realization spread a window of clarity looking all the way back to the moment she’d allowed Albus to leave a baby on a doorstep, believing that he must know something that she didn’t. That he must know better than she did what the right thing was to do. 

Chills of revulsion raced up her arms.

A baby - on a doorstep - with a note, and prayer. A teenage boy weeping over the body of his friend in the center of a maze. A young man standing before the Dark Lord, absolutely alone, and then falling into the arms of the only person he felt he could trust.

Well, she might not have known Albus until that very moment, but Severus Snape certainly had. Severus had seen behind the curtain - had seen the truth of what this man was willing to do to accomplish his goals - and was left with a very clear sentiment, which she now shared.

_I hope Albus Dumbledore rots in hell._

She squared her shoulders.

“You have betrayed that boy in every conceivable way,” she said in a low voice. “You failed him more abjectly than I could ever have imagined, and if I were you, I would consider him permanently lost to you. Which was, of course, your plan all along. Good day.”

She slammed the door behind her. 

In the echo of her departure, Dumbledore sat very still for a moment, with his gaze resting on the closed doors. He knew that he had done what was needed. Minerva just didn’t understand war, that was all. How could anyone judge his decisions, now, when the light had won? It was impossible to know if there had been another way. Tom Riddle was dead, and the Muggleborns of Britain were free from persecution, and it was Albus’ plan that had done it. Who could judge him? 

Harry would understand, he was sure. Harry was a fighter, and he understood sacrifice. Harry would come to visit him, and then Albus could hear the story of the final battle straight from the source, and could explain himself. His intentions, and all he’d meant by them. Yes. Harry would come. 

It was the quiet that drew his attention back to the present, and he looked around at the other portraits on the walls to see them staring back at him. All of his predecessors, immortalized in paint. Every Headmaster that had ever stood at the helm of Hogwarts school: Armando Dippet, and Ambrose Swott. Edessa Sakndenberg, Heliotrope Wilkins, Phineas Black, Vindictus Viridian, and Dexter Fortescue. Walter Aragon and Dilys Derwent, and all the others. But no one spoke, and Albus watched in silence as each and every one of them very slowly and very deliberately turned their backs. 


	6. Worthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Due to having "a job," I have fallen way behind in responding to all of your wonderful comments. But I am still reading and loving every single one!!

That afternoon found Bill and Charlie repairing windows on the seventh floor, while Professors Flitwick and Vector were reassembling a queue of animated statues holding their own severed body parts. Everyone was making good progress, and the inside of the castle, at least, was starting to look almost normal. Charlie had already completed three whole corridors with his brother since lunch, and he had to admit it felt good to be busy. It really did. Even if Bill would not fucking lay off of him, and kept making awful dragon puns, and refused to talk about anything at all serious. 

Well, he supposed people grieved in different ways. And Bill, apparently, grieved by being incredibly obnoxious and invasive. 

“I’m telling you, Charlie,” Bill said for the fifth time. “Just go for it. He blushed _at you_ at breakfast.” 

“He didn’t blush _at me,”_ Charlie grumbled. “And can you please give it a rest? The war ended _two seconds ago.”_

“All the more reason to _seize life by the horntail!”_

Charlie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Bill. I don’t even know if he’s gay. So please, can you stop?” Bill just squinted at him. 

“He’s gay, my dear brother. He’s gay. I mean… come on.”

“Maybe,” Charlie allowed, and then sighed. Frivolous bullshit it may be, but Bill did have a bit of a point. They all could have died, and Ron and Hermione had paired up at last, and Harry Potter had bloody Severus Snape. Why be shy? “When I see him next I’ll give it a go, shall I?”

“Yeah, I think you should. He’s cute.” Bill waggled his eyebrows. “Plus… _blonde.”_

“Oh, I’m sorry, maybe _you_ should go for him. Since we all know how much you like _blondes.”_

“Everyone likes blondes, Charlie,” Bill answered airily. “It is we gingers who must compete.” Charlie opened his mouth to retort, but something caught Bill’s eye before he could, and he turned to see Ron shamble in with an ice-pack on his head. “Speaking of gingers.” 

“Well, look who finally appears,” Charlie said. “Are you _that_ hungover or did Hermione give you a knock for making a fool of yourself?”

Ron just grunted, and Hermione came in behind him. “Afternoon Bill, Charlie,” she said. “Has anyone seen Harry today?”

“Nope,” Bill answered. “Missed breakfast _and_ lunch. Snape, too. Obviously.”

“Yeah, and _you_ missed a spectacular show,” Charlie added. “Owls as far as the eye can see.”

“What d’ya mean owls?” Ron asked.

“Just eight hundred bloody owls.” Bill held out his arms as if to welcome a great mass of birds. Or possibly one extremely large bird. “Looking for Harry, apparently. Stayed for hours until McGonagall sent them away. Shitting on all the benches, you know.”

“One of them landed right on my head and started pegging me with it’s envelope,” Charlie added, brushing back his hair to show a scratch on his forehead. “Damn thing was _pissed_ it couldn’t find Harry.”

“Why in bloody hell is Harry getting eight hundred owls?” Ron asked, rubbing his temples. 

“Because he’s Harry _‘god powers’_ Potter isn’t he?” Bill said, raising his eyebrows at Hermione as if to say _he’s dumb as a brick, love. Have you noticed?_

“What about Severus _‘brutal killer’_ Snape?” Ron countered. “Any letters for him?”

“Would _you_ dare send him a letter?” 

“Yeah, I would,” Ron shot back. “I’m not afraid of him. We’re _mates.”_

“Mates!” Bill laughed. “Since when?”

“Since I punched Lupin in the FACE for calling him a _rapist,_ obviously,” Ron said, annoyed. “I’ve been defending Harry for ages, haven’t I? Even from _you lot.”_ He crossed his arms importantly. “Snape’s Harry’s boyfriend, I’m Harry’s best friend. Simple.”

“Boyfriend!” Bill howled. “I will give you a galleon if you say that to Severus Snape’s face.”

“Don’t think I won’t!”

“Two galleons,” Charlie added. “Dare you.”

“Well, anyway,” Hermione cut in, clapping her hands together. “What else needs doing? Library? Hospital Wing?” She looked between the boys, and over at the Professors busy reattaching the wings to a stone pegasus. “Oh, where’s Neville? Did he come today?”

“Down in the greenhouses,” Charlie answered. “One of them got stepped on by a Giant.” He punched his own palm. _“Splat.”_

“Oh, no. Professor Sprout must be devastated. Some of those plants were like her children.”

“Yeah, well, I heard Neville’s some kind of _pro_ now so I think it’ll be fine,” Ron answered dismissively. 

And then there was a silence. 

_‘If you hold still this will be easier,’_ Professor Flitwick squeaked at the gargoyle squirming in front of him.

 _‘How’m I s’posed to stay still I’ve only got one of me legs!’_ the gargoyle growled, and pitched onto his back with a thump.

“So. Uh…” Charlie trailed off, and cleared his throat. “How - How was everyone when you left?” He hesitated. “Was mum awake?”

Ron looked shiftily at Hermione, and she answered for him. “Yes, she was. Percy and Ginny made her tea around one o’clock, but… she didn’t seem very interested in it.” Ron felt for her hand and then took it. “But she did ask us to say hello to Harry for her, if we saw him.” 

“She said that last night, too,” Charlie said, and frowned. “Well, hopefully he’ll be at dinner, just so we can tell her something.”

“I think she’s worried no one’s looking out for him,” Hermione said. “I don’t think the Snape situation’s quite sunk in.”

“Understandable,” Bill answered. “It is kind of… different. I thought she was going to throw a fit when Snape told her Harry was staying here with him. Didn’t think she could take much more.” He looked into the middle distance for a long moment, and then seemed to snap out of it, and grinned again. “But I suppose she’ll have all kinds of Slytherins to contend with soon, eh? Eh, Charlie? Just fill the house with Slytherins?” 

“Bill, for fuck’s sake,” Charlie groaned. 

“What other Slytherins?” Ron demanded. “Is Malfoy still following Harry around?”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded him. “He doesn’t _follow Harry around._ He fought with us.”

“He does, though,” Ron laughed. “Fancies him. It’s obvious. Poor bastard. Never seen a bloke less available than Harry.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “I think Draco fancies Snape, honestly,” she said. “Kind of a _fear-fancy,_ anyway.”

“I think _you_ fancy Snape,” Ron countered. “And what in Merlin’s name is _fear-fancy?”_

Hermione blushed. “It’s when you’re afraid of someone but still fancy them, _obviously,”_ she said, trying to sound aloof. “Like you and _Fleur.”_

Then Ron turned red, too, and Bill laughed. “Fear-fancy my wife, do you?” he guffawed. “She is rather intimidating. And as for Malfoy, hopefully he likes redheads as well as _brunettes._ If he fancies Harry and _fear-fancies_ Snape, anyway.” He laughed again, and Ron narrowed his eyes at him, and then at Charlie, and then at Hermione, and back at Charlie. 

“Which redhead?” he asked.

***

Draco, for his part, had found over the last few days that he rather did fancy redheads, and right at that moment he was with his mother and Professor Sinistra on the second floor, repairing a row of shredded tapestries and trying very hard not to listen to the pair of them discussing a _specific_ redhead. For he had made the severe mistake of asking his mother if she thought Charlie Weasley was good-looking, and now, God help him, she was _involved._

_Oh, he was a prefect? And Quidditch captain, too? What position did he play? Seeker? What a coincidence. Draco is an excellent seeker. And he was part of the Order of the Phoenix, was he? And so young! How very brave._

Mortifying. 

You’d think they were at a bloody cocktail mixer, instead of in a warzone. But NOOO, Draco hadn’t been literally _moments from death_ five _separate_ _times_ or anything, and surely even if he had been almost raped and then thrown through a plate-glass window, a burly ginger could just fix him right up. Make him all better. 

Ugh. 

And hadn’t one of the Weasleys been killed? As if Charlie would be interested in going out for _coffee_ or something two days after his brother died. But his mother did not seem bothered by that. She did not seem bothered that they had nowhere to live, and that the Ministry was surely ransacking their possessions and stripping the Manor to the studs while they hid at Hogwarts fixing paintings and undoing magical damage. She did not seem bothered that she had killed her own husband, or that Draco had returned her wand only after he’d taken one from the limp hand of a Deatheater that had eaten at their table. What she was bothered about, was what Charlie Weasley looked like without his shirt on.

Served him right for saying a single fucking word to her about it.

“He’s quite muscular for a Wizard, isn’t he?” Narcissa asked conversationally, giving Draco a wicked look out of the corner of her eye. “What sort of work does he do, do you know? Other than tackling Peter Pettigrew.” She gave a tinkling little laugh. “I believe his brother is a curse-breaker, but he seems a bit more… physical. Quite freckled, too.”

_Yes, mother. We can all see him. And I know he tackled Pettigrew. Held him down while I kicked him in the mouth, didn’t he? Fucking hell._

“Oh, yes,” Sinistra answered absently, trimming the end of a gilded thread with her wand. “Bill is a Gringotts curse-breaker, or he was before the war, anyway. Charlie, though? Last I heard he was working in Romania. He’s a Dragon Trainer.”

Draco’s arm froze mid-casting. 

_He’s a what?_

“He provided the Dragons for the TriWizard tournament, you know,” Sinistra continued. “Handled them personally. Absolutely stellar job. Quite a challenge importing mature beasts like that. Most Dragonologists only dare transport juveniles.”

Draco stared blankly at the tapestry in front of him, suddenly overcome with a memory of watching Harry zooming around the head of a Hungarian Horntail, trying to coax it off of its clutch of eggs. He’d thought the whole thing was mad back then. And those had been _Charlie Weasley’s Dragons?_

That man must be carved from stone.

 _“Did_ he now?” Narcissa asked. “What a fascinating career. That would explain his physique, too.” A pause. “Is he single?”

“MOTHER!” Draco burst out before he could stop himself, and both women turned to look at him. “Oh. Um. I’m done with this one.” He focused back on the tapestry he’d been repairing, and blushed. It was not done. “...almost.”

Professor Sinistra chuckled, putting the finishing touches on her gold inlay. “I’ve no idea what Charlie’s been up to lately,” she said. “Maybe you should ask him yourself. He’s quite friendly. He was a favorite while he was in school. Just _beloved.”_

“He does seem friendly, doesn’t he?” Narcissa looked over at Draco again and he glared at her. But just as she opened her mouth to say something else embarrassing, there was a sudden _CRACK_ beside Draco’s elbow and he leapt back.

“Sweet _Merlin-”_ he gasped, clutching his heart and recoiling against the wall.

“Master Malfoy,” the house-elf squeaked, bowing and holding out a note. “Pardon the noise. Bimpy did not mean to frighten.” 

“Oh,” Draco said, a little breathless. “That’s alright. You just - um - startled me. Thank you.” He took the parchment, the elf vanished, and he sagged against the wall. “Fuck.”

“Might take a while to recover from those murderous house-elves, hm?” Narcissa asked, and Sinistra grimaced.

“I almost got _stabbed,_ mother,” Draco sneered back. “Do forgive me for being _jumpy_ and _traumatized.”_ He turned away from them and looked down at the letter.

> _Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _I would like to extend an invitation to you for a spot of tea in my office. No obligation, of course._
> 
> _Minerva McGonagall_

He frowned.

“What is it, darling?” Narcissa asked, coming over to see. “Oh. Why should she ask you to tea?” Draco glanced over at Professor Sinistra, who had turned her attention back to the tapestries. 

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully. “I think I’ll go and see, though. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. Though I might retire to the dormitories when we’ve finished here. Try for a bit of beauty sleep before dinner.”

Draco folded the note and put it in his pocket. “Want to blind the staff with your radiance, do you?” he asked absently, and waited for his mother’s silvery laugh. “I’ll come fetch you when I’m through.”

“Do.”

He kissed her on the cheek and then set off for McGonagall’s office, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Maybe she was going to try to trick him into answering questions about Harry and Snape. That might be it. He knew she didn’t like that whole situation, and couldn’t think of any other reason she might have invited him to tea. Maybe she thought he’d tell tales on them to try to curry favor.

Well, no matter. If she wanted to ask about Harry and Snape, he would just refuse to speak. She couldn’t _force him._ His wards were still in place, and Minerva McGonagall was a powerful Witch, but she was hardly a Legillimens on the level of Snape or the Dark Lord. If she asked, he’d just lie.

_Unless…_

He stopped still in the corridor. 

He just wouldn’t drink the tea, that was all.

He’d be fine. 

He made it all the way to her office door before being overcome with the urge to bolt. Because he had never in his life seen Minerva McGonagall look as incredibly uncomfortable as she did right when she saw him standing there, and looking into her face, he was immediately sure that he did not want to hear whatever she had to say. But then she gestured at him to enter, and his ingrained politeness overcame his sudden fear. 

He couldn’t just _run._ That would be rude. She’d invited him for tea, and he was already there, and he had to go in, and that was all. He hadn’t been raised by _savages._

“Good day, Mr. Malfoy,” she said primly. “Please come in.”

“Good day, Professor,” Draco answered, and stepped over the threshold with a shiver of foreboding. “Thank you.” There was already a tea service steaming on her desk, complete with an array of biscuits, and he sat in one of the chairs and folded his hands. He hadn’t spent very much time in her office - generally discipline was dolled out by one’s own Head of House - but it was just as neat as McGonagall herself, save for an incongruous wooden crate resting in one corner. Those were Harry’s letters, he knew, but there was a weird little rustling noise coming from inside it, like a mouse making a nest. “Did someone send Harry an animal?” he asked, and Minerva glanced up from where she was busy pouring two cups of tea. 

“Hm? Oh, no. Not as far as I’m aware, anyway. Some of the letters seem to be charmed. Harmless. Do you take sugar? Milk?”

“Sugar, please.”

She hummed in assent, placed a saucer and cup in front of Draco on her desk, and then very shockingly sat in the free chair. Not behind the desk in her rightful place as head of Gryffindor House, but right next to him. 

_She’s sitting next to you because she wants to seem friendly._

_This is a trap._

He shifted a little in his seat and picked up his tea, wanting to take a sip just to have something to do, but not enough to be willing to risk ingesting _veritaserum._ So he just looked into it instead - at the grains of undissolved sugar at the very bottom - and waited. But McGonagall did not say anything right away, and as the silence stretched, Draco wished again that he had just cut and run at the door. Why wasn’t she saying anything? She’d summoned _him._ And now, what? She wanted him to say something first? 

Fine. 

_Show her you know it’s a trap._

“Is this about Harry?” he finally asked. “Because if it is, I don’t really feel comfortable talking about his business behind his back.” _You sneaky bint._

Minerva sighed, stirring her own tea with a little silver spoon like she, too, wanted something to do with her hands. “No,” she said. “I didn’t invite you here to ask you about Harry. I’ve already spoken to him. It’s you yourself I wanted to discuss. And… this last year. Here at school.”

Draco’s heart sank straight into the floor, and he blew on his tea and took a careful sip, suddenly hoping that it _was_ spiked with _veritaserum._ That way, when she asked him if Snape raped him, as was surely imminent, she might believe him when he said no. 

And then maybe Snape wouldn’t get carted off to prison. 

“I… don’t understand,” he began, aware even as he said it that it was useless. She’d been there, of course. She’d seen his bruises, and Snape had not been discreet at the end. “What about school?” He sipped again, and when he met McGonagall’s eyes, her expression was searching. _Professor Snape never hurt me,_ he thought, just in case. _It was fake._

Minerva frowned. “I can see that I am alarming you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “But that is not my intention. I only want to offer my apologies, if you will take them.”

_…What?_

“Apologies?” Draco asked stupidly, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not following, Professor. You didn’t do anything to me. And…” He paused. _You should say it first._ “Neither did Professor Snape, if this is about that. He was helping me, and-” He took another sip, a little larger. “It’s complicated, but… I’m fine.”

Minerva pursed her lips and looked away. “I know it’s complicated, Mr. Malfoy, and I don’t mean this to be… uncomfortable for you. I had a very enlightening conversation with Harry and Professor Snape last night, and it was rightly brought to my attention that it was remiss of me to allow you to… languish… in your… situation. Here at school, where you were meant to be… safe.” She stopped, and rubbed her eyes. “Let me try again. I’ve had a rather long day.” She put her tea back on the desk and looked right at him. “I know now that Severus was defending you from a greater threat, so please do not feel that I am interrogating you, or resting his fate on your shoulders. I will not, in fact, insist that you answer any questions at all, if you don’t care to.” She paused, and folded her hands. “What I am trying to say is this. What Severus was or was not doing to you is secondary. I believed that he was abusing you, and I did not step in. I selfishly stood aside and allowed it, and I want you to know that I made a terrible mistake in abandoning you, and that my failure to act does not mean that you are not worthy of protection.”

Draco just stared at her, uncomprehending. 

She couldn’t possibly mean that. It was absurd. Worthy of protection? She must not know what he’d done. That was the only possible explanation for this conversation. If she knew the whole story, she would not be saying this to him. She would be saying _you should be ashamed._

Well, he just had to tell her, that was all. Lay it all out, and then see what she had to say about her guilty conscience. He was a fucking Deatheater, wasn’t he? She just didn’t know. Though how she could have failed to notice was a mystery to him. Maybe she thought he’d been a spy the whole time, like Snape. Which he certainly hadn’t been.

“Professor McGonagall…” he said slowly, and put his cup down when it rattled against its saucer, not wanting to dump tea all over himself. “I tried to kill Professor Dumbledore. I thought you knew. I mean… I hurt Katie Bell. And… Ron. It was me, and they could have died. I - had Madam Rosmerta under the imperius curse for almost a year.” He hesitated, and then pushed back the sleeve of his left arm, turning his wrist up to expose the red skull and serpent indelibly inked into his skin. It wasn’t black, and hopefully it would never turn black again, but it was there, and would remain until the day he died. A painful and permanent reminder of his own awful mistakes. 

Unless Harry took it off of him, of course. 

Or he cut off his own arm. 

“I brought Deatheaters into the school,” he continued, as her eyes traveled over his Mark, watching the disgust he felt every time he looked at it himself appear in her face. “I was one of them. And Professor Snape stepped in to kill the Headmaster for me. To save _me._ He took me with him after it was done, and acted like my m-master to protect me from the others. I didn’t expect anyone else to step in. Or try to help. I mean-” he broke off with an unhappy laugh, and covered his arm again. “Why would they? After everything I’ve done? I-” His words caught in his chest.

“Deserved it?” Minerva supplied gently, and Draco pressed his lips together and cast his eyes towards the floor, waiting for her condemnation. Waiting for her to tell him that she hadn’t known how much pain he’d caused, or how much chaos he’d sown. Waiting for her to excoriate him for endangering his fellow students, and for betraying them all, and for being the type of person that would take the Mark in the first place. The type of revolting bigot that would fall to his knees and kiss the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes and submit to being touched by his skeletal hands. The type of disgusting- 

“No, Draco,” Minerva said. “You didn’t.”

He looked back up, and quite against his will he found the room sparkling with refracted light. And when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t.

***

Severus stayed in the shower with Harry for a very long time, holding him through the storm of trembling that followed that single word - _proud -_ and through the sudden and intense need for physical contact that came after. For Harry was still Harry, and when Harry was upset, he did not want merely to be petted. And so Severus had not been surprised when Harry kissed him with fierce passion while he was still wracked with tremors - while he was still _clinging_ and still _silent_ \- Severus had not been surprised, and had not tried to make him stop. He just returned his kiss in kind, and crushed him to the tiles. 

Because he knew Harry, and he knew what Harry needed, and he’d reached between their bodies with a hand slick with soap, and bit down hard on Harry’s neck, and got him off again. And then finally, the distress torn from his body, Harry had relaxed, and very docilely allowed Severus to wash him. So Severus had washed him, and had taken his time, running his palms over Harry’s body and digging his thumbs into the tight muscles of his shoulders and back. And then - well. Then Severus had given himself a cursory onceover with the soap, and coaxed Harry out of the shower and into a towel, and then looked up, and started. 

Because there had been a crack right down the center of his mirror. A neat diagonal break, from the upper right corner to the lower left, like it had been snapped over someone’s knee. And that certainly had not been there when they woke up. But Harry hadn’t noticed it at the time, and Severus hadn’t said anything about it, either. Instead, he’d tugged Harry out into the bedroom to put on something comfortable, mended the mirror with a discrete wave of his wand, and went into the living room to send for food. And though Harry had not eaten very much, he had eaten a bit, and then, as Severus suspected he might, he’d fallen right back asleep with his head on Severus’ lap.

So, that was where they had been for a while. On the sofa, together. Severus awake, and Harry quite soundly asleep. 

And that was good, too. Harry needed to sleep, and as far as Severus was concerned, the more he slept, the better. For though Severus had no idea what energy source fueled Harry’s magic, it certainly flowed through his body, and was moderated by his mind and spirit, and all three of those things were exhausted. And if Harry was leaking magic in moments of high tension, that was to be expected. If he was breaking mirrors, and turning bedside tables into kindling, and the Dark Lord’s body into a charcoal briquette, those things were not terribly different from shattering the windows in the Hospital Wing, or inadvertently summoning transparent frogs. He’d unleashed more power in one night than even Albus Dumbledore had expended in his entire life, and it would take time to reign it back in, that was all. Time, and practice, and patience, just like everything else. 

But that would come later. For now, Severus sat quite still, and let Harry sleep, and was content just to watch him. More than content, really, for Severus Snape had never dared dream of such leisure. To simply sit, and look at him. Memorizing each eyelash, and curve, and angle, and edge. The hollows under his eyes, and the indentation over his top lip, and how, even in sleep, his brow held a tiny crinkle of worry. And though there was that little crinkle, and Severus could see his eyes moving under his eyelids, he did not cry out, or speak, or give any other obvious indication of nightmares. 

He just slept, and Severus let him sleep, and thought about cracks, and splinters, and magic, and about dark shadows under the most beautiful eyes on earth, and how long they might take to fade. 

***

By the time Draco left Professor McGonagall’s office, he was absolutely exhausted. But instead of going straight down to the Slytherin dormitory to hopefully join his mother in her nap, he stopped over in the nearest boy’s bathroom to try to get himself in order. He was a mess, he was sure, and he certainly wouldn’t be caught dead walking through the castle looking like he’d just spent an hour and a half hysterically weeping. 

Someone might _see him._

So, he locked the door and splashed some cold water on his face, and then set about casting a few charms over himself that he’d learned from his mother, and had used to great effect during his sixth year. He’d spent quite a lot of time crying in bathrooms that year, of course, and the judicious use of his mother’s de-puffing and anti-inflammation charms had done wonders for keeping suspicion off of him while he worked so hard at ruining his own life. That hadn’t been a concern recently, of course. Over the last year he’d needed to look as upset as possible at all times. Which had been pretty easy, really. He had been upset. 

And he was upset now, too.

It had never occurred to him to even _hope_ that one of his other Professors might try to help him. It had never occurred to him that anyone might have dared, and so it had not occurred to him to be bothered that they hadn’t, or that no one had even so much as asked him if he was alright. And now that the thought had entered his head, he wasn’t sure any of his Professors had ever really even… looked at him. They’d all just… sort of… turned away.

He looked into his own eyes in the mirror, wondering what he would have even done if someone had asked. Lied, he supposed. But how? What could he possibly have said that would have deflected attention off of himself _and_ off of Snape? Assured them that he was perfectly fine while standing there with a black eye? Suggested that someone else was doing it to him, maybe, while Snape was dragging him through the halls? He could have pointed the blame at Crabbe or Goyle, at first, but that wouldn’t have held up under Legilimency or veritaserum, and certainly it would have convinced absolutely no one at the end when he’d been _sleeping in Snape’s rooms._ He could have told the truth, and risked Snape’s cover, or told the lie they fed to the Dark Lord, and sent Snape to Azkaban for rape. 

And what in Merlin’s name did it say about his life that the _best outcome_ had been the complete and utter disregard of everyone that was supposed to be protecting him? The _entire staff_ had turned a blind eye to his violent degradation, and that had been _good._ Just like his bloody father staring at the floor while Snape slapped him and pinned him to the wall in front of the entire inner circle. 

Fuck.

He was going to start crying again.

He turned the faucet back on and drank until the urge to break apart passed. Thank God Professor McGonagall had asked for his wishes regarding the rest of the staff before letting him go. He didn’t think he could take another conversation like that ever in his life, let alone a dozen of them. 

_‘Would you like me to speak to the other Professors on your behalf?’_ she’d asked, and he had wiped his face with her handkerchief and said all he could manage.

_‘Please - don’t.’_

He took a deep breath and violently rubbed his eyes.

What he really needed was sleep. He was just so fucking tired, and he probably looked as good as he was going to, because clearly the longer he stayed in the blasted bathroom the more likely he was to burst back into tears and have to cast all of his charms again. He should just go now. He might not meet anyone on the way, in any case, and once he got back to the dorms, he could sleep straight through dinner if he wanted to. 

That sounded just about right, actually. Sixteen hours of sleep. 

He could die of shame in the morning. Or maybe Snape and Harry would have come out by then, and he could talk to someone who understood. Someone who had _been there,_ and had cared about what was happening to him while it was still happening, instead of just after it was over.

And if they didn’t come out, maybe he could just go to Snape’s rooms and knock. They might let him in, and if they did, he could ask Snape what to think about what McGonagall had just told him, and whether or not he had done the right thing. And he could say thank you to Harry for giving a shit. For telling Snape to keep him, and for saving him from that fire. And… for calling for help when Rowle had him, and telling Lupin not to kill him. 

And for letting him sit on his sheet, at the end. 

For… noticing. That he was there. 

He just had to get back into the dorms and rest, first. Maybe he could do some of Snape’s breathing exercises, too, if he couldn’t sleep right away. Those usually worked. And maybe his mother would lay down with him for a while, if she was awake. Just lay down with him and touch his hair, the way she had after the battle.

But Draco didn’t quite make it back to his bed, or to his mother. Because when he rounded the final corner towards the Slytherin common room, there were three people standing outside the portal in quiet conversation. His head of house, scrutinizing a piece of parchment and dressed as usual in an extravagant smoking jacket, and two men Draco had never seen before in his life. 

“Oh,” he said, stopping short. “Is there a problem?

  
  



	7. Wizard Prince and the Angel of Death

Harry and Severus did not make it out of the Dungeons at all that first day, which Severus had not intended to do, in any case. Although he hadn’t intended to stay on the sofa for quite so long, either. If he’d known Harry would sleep so deeply, he would have taken him to bed in the first place. But he hadn’t, and he was trapped, and he accepted it. After all the weeks and months of separation, and all the long hours he’d spent pining for Harry asleep beside him, it served him right to be cornered on the sofa for so bloody long. 

_ This is what you get for all your mad promises,  _ he thought wryly, brushing an errant hair from Harry’s forehead.  _ Praying to every deity you could think of to return Harry to your arms, and here he is, absolutely unconscious on your lap. You wanted him, and here he is. Like a sack of rocks. _

He laughed a little, flexing his toes to keep his legs from going numb, and thinking about how unlikely it all was. 

How incredibly unlikely for Harry to be there at all, let alone asleep on him under such circumstances that, should anyone happen upon them, Severus could just shrug, and  _ shh,  _ and gesture towards his quiescent body, and the interloper would have to accept it, and go away.

_ Hush. He’s sleeping. Leave us be. _

Madness, really. Absolute madness, that after all the mistakes and all the fighting, and grief, and carnage, they had found a world in which Harry could stay, and Severus could permit it. A world in which Severus’  _ forever _ had not been a lie, and Harry’s love, not a death sentence. A world in which Harry Potter could run his hands over Severus’ jagged, brittle edges - draw his fingertips through his inky darkness - witness  _ first hand _ the violence Severus had inside his heart, and then… fall asleep on him. To return from death to be with him, despite knowing him so very well.

How unlikely, how mad, that Harry should love him at all, really. 

Like they’d said in the field hospital…  _ Harry, with Snape? Absurd… ridiculous… impossible… wicked…  _

He was just starting to doze on the wings of those morose contemplations when Harry stirred and hummed a little, jerking him back out of his trance and reminding him that he was, in fact, residing in reality, and that it was a bad habit of his to spend too long writing mental poetry about what he didn’t deserve, and that Harry might startle if he woke up in a strange place. So, Severus shook off the haze that had fallen over him, and brought one hand up to card through Harry’s hair. 

“Good morning,” he said quietly, wanting to bring him out gently. 

“‘S morning?” Harry murmured, blinking groggily up at him. 

“No,” Severus admitted. “Afternoon, I think. Might be, oh, three o’clock?”

Harry just yawned, turning onto his side to snuggle his face into Severus’ legs. “Gonna get in trouble for staying in the Dungeons…” he mumbled. “Gonna get - judgy… eyebrows.”

Severus laughed. “Let the eyebrows fall where they may. We have faced much worse.”

“Jus’ you ‘n me…”

“That’s right.”

“Mm.”

Severus tugged gently on a lock of his hair before he could slip back under. It would be good to get some more food into him before letting him go back to sleep, if he could. “I think you should eat again, my love,” he said quietly. “Do you think you can manage it?” Harry murmured something into his legs. “Was that a yes?” 

“M’not hungry. Sleepy.”

He did still sound exhausted. “I’ll wake you at five, then. Alright?”

“M’kay. Tired…”

He was asleep again in moments, and Severus stroked his hair, remembering the way Harry used to fall asleep in his armchair with a book in his hand after his first explosion of wandless magic, and how many times Severus had levitated him into the little guest-bedroom he and Albus had prepared. He hadn’t allowed Harry to sleep in his lap back then, of course, though he certainly would have liked to.

That week had been absolute torture. Having Harry there, right in front of him, sharing his rooms and his shower, and trying so desperately to keep his hands off, despite knowing that the last time they’d been alone together, Severus had pinned him to the bed and stared into his eyes, and watched him get off for the first time. 

How incredibly futile it had all been. All the fighting. All the resisting. All the energy he’d expended trying to convince himself that he didn’t want Harry Potter more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, and when he’d failed at that, pivoting to iron self control. Relying on his sense of moral propriety to keep his hands - and belt - and  _ mouth  _ \- to himself. Pity he couldn’t just time-turn back to those days and hit himself in the head with something. 

_ Just have him, moron. He’s your soulmate. Oh, also, he isn’t going to die after all. Surprise! No need to wallow in agony. And Albus Dumbledore is a single-minded despot and you could have fucked that boy right on his desk and he wouldn’t have said a damn thing. So go ahead and have him, past-self. And implement the colors earlier. Oh, and he likes being carried. It takes you a while to figure that out.  _

_ AND! When you have to leave the school, for the love of God, talk to Harry through the bracelets. Say LITERALLY ANYTHING- _

Severus made himself stop. Fantasizing about correcting his many awful mistakes was not only pointless, it was a rabbit hole that he could probably burrow into for days. And why bother with such a thing, now? Every twisting turn had led to one incontrovertible fact: They were together. 

So, what could he think of instead? 

He supposed he could make himself actually useful and consider what they were going to do now. Now that the war was over, and they had to pick up the pieces. Aside from taking care of Harry, which would clearly be challenging and enjoyable by turns, there were more practical matters to attend to. There would be press to deal with, and the ministry. Severus might even be arrested, as he had, in fact, cast every single unforgivable curse at least once in a single twelve-hour period. But even if he wasn’t arrested - which he really hoped he wouldn’t be - there was the most base concern of all: money. 

He would have to find a new job after leaving Hogwarts, and how easy that would or wouldn’t be was going to depend heavily on how the Wizarding World ended up feeling about him when the news coverage was all said and done. That had probably already begun. He might be a hero, or he might end up with a thousand howlers a day, all screaming about how he’d defiled the Chosen One.

Well, he had a little gold saved up, anyway. Enough to tide them over until he figured things out. 

That left their living situation. He supposed that would have to be decided first, as they certainly couldn’t stay at the castle forever. Severus had resigned his post as Headmaster - unofficially, at least - and had no desire to teach now that the war was over. No desire to teach, and no desire to ever set foot in that god-forsaken prison of an office again. And certainly there was no need for Harry to finish his schooling. What a complete waste of time that would be. Though it might be a lark to sit in on his NEWT exams and watch the proctors dissolve into tears. Just… collapse in religious awe and beg for autographs.

He shook his head a little, trying not to laugh at the image. Harry would be mortified.

Not Hogwarts, then. Where might they go? Harry owned Grimmauld Place, and Severus owned Spinners End, but both of those places were far too dreary and plain for someone like Harry. Harry deserved light, and space, and privacy. Harry deserved an airy kitchen, and a bathtub big enough for two, and a garden to call exotic plants out of the ether.

Yes… that was what they needed. Space to create, and room to fly. French doors to let in the breeze in summer, cherry trees that flowered in the spring, and a greenhouse for the winter. An apple grove… for autumn… and… a hedge of… cacti… three meters tall… Security wards… in all directions… and… a wide open… sky…

There was a small tapping sound, and Severus twitched, and Harry jerked so hard he fell off the sofa and onto the floor. 

“Ow- fuck. What was that?” Harry asked, propping himself up on his hands. “Jeez.” He picked up his glasses. “What time is it?”

“Oh - I’ve no idea,” Severus answered, blinking around. Had he fallen asleep? He rubbed his eyes and then looked to the door as the tapping came again. “Excellent,” he said. “Visitors. Shall I answer it, or tell them to bugger off?”

Harry flopped back onto the floor with a groan and then addressed the ceiling. “Well, I s’pose we should see who it is before telling them to bugger off,” he said, and sighed. “Might be someone fun. You never know.”

“As if anyone  _ fun  _ has ever tapped on my door.” 

“I’m fun,” Harry said, and Severus scoffed lightly and got to his feet. 

“You’re already here, though, aren’t you?” 

For a moment upon opening the door there seemed to be no one there, giving Severus a jolt of deja vu. But it obviously couldn’t be Harry under his cloak, as Harry was laying on his floor, and he looked down to see a house-elf. 

“Master Snape,” she squeaked, curtsying neatly in her Hogwarts tea-towel. “Good evening! Mistress McGonagall sends a missive, if Master Potter is feeling well enough to receive it.” She held out a small scroll, and Severus took it from her.

“Oh. Yes,” he said slowly. He had definitely fallen asleep. Possibly for a pretty long time. “Thank you… um…”

“Tinker,” the elf supplied with another curtsy. “Master Potter healed Tinker’s eyes!” She pointed to her left eye, which was, of course, completely clear and unblemished. “Tinker was  _ blind.” _

“How kind of him. Would you like to say hello?” Severus asked. “He’s just inside.”

“Oh, no, Master Snape,” Tinker answered quickly, turning scarlet. “Tinker is only saying thank you! Master Potter is much too busy to speak to house-elves. It would be - rude to - impose.”

Harry appeared in the doorway. “Hi,” he said, and Tinker fainted. “Oh.” 

They looked down at her. “Well,” Severus said. “I think you overexcited her by being alive.” 

“Maybe it was  _ you,”  _ Harry answered. “You are a  _ very scary man, _ after all.”

“She was perfectly fine until you appeared, Saint Harry.”

“Pff.”

_ Crack! _

Another house-elf apparated into the corridor, and bowed low.

“Apologies for Tinker, Master-” he looked up, saw Harry and Severus standing there, and promptly fainted, too. 

“My god,” Severus said. “Kreacher?”

_ Crack! _

“Masters Snape and Potter!” Kreacher croaked. “How may I - oh.” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Harry said quickly, grimacing as Kreacher looked down at his unconscious fellows. “They just… sort of… passed out.” He wrung his hands. “Sorry.”

“Wizards are going to do that, too,” Severus answered. “Piles of them in the streets. Just wait. Weeping, and fainting, and screaming, just like those portraits.” He paused, and frowned. “I almost fainted, actually. Hm.”

“Kreacher will take them away. Apologies from all elves, Masters.”

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was standing wildly up on one side. “But can you tell the other house-elves that I’m just me? Like before. Just… you know, Harry? And that there’s no reason to… faint or anything?”

“Kreacher will do his best,” Kreacher answered. “But Master Potter is healing house-elves and letting Kreacher sit on his sheet. They are very happy to have Master Potter in the castle. Master Potter is very… inspiring.”

“That is true,” Severus said very unhelpfully.

“But I’ve been here almost the whole time!” Harry said, exasperated. “Jeez, it’s not like I’m actually a saint or something.”

Kreacher just looked at Severus, who shrugged. 

“As you say, Master Potter.” Kreacher took hold of the unconscious elves by the ankles. “Might Kreacher send up a dinner service?”

“Is it dinner time?” Harry asked. “We fell asleep.”

“Half past eight in the evening,” Kreacher said. 

“Half past eight?” Severus asked. He’d been asleep on the sofa for  _ five hours? _ No wonder he felt disoriented. He hardly slept five hours in his  _ bed  _ on a normal night. Harry was like chloroform sometimes. 

“Yes, Master Snape.”

“A dinner service would be much appreciated, then,” Severus said gravely. “And thank you for your wonderful artwork, as well. It brought Harry a lot of… joy.” 

“It is Kreacher’s great honor to make Masters a gift,” Kreacher said, beaming at them both through the parchment-like folds of his ancient face. “Dinner is coming soon.” He bowed again, and disapparated with the others, and Severus handed the scroll to Harry with a solemn nod. “From the future Headmistress. I hope she isn’t feeling too vindictive. Care for a drink? I’ve a bottle or two of red in the cabinet, I think.”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry answered, following him back into his rooms. “Thanks for not telling Kreacher I cried. If he fainted too we’d have had a whole pile of house-elves to deal with. What a mess. Hm.” He unfurled the scroll. “Lets see if I’m in trouble.”

> _ Mr. Potter, _
> 
> _ As you have not appeared for any meals today, the post owls have been unable to deliver your letters. Normally this would not be cause for concern, but there were slightly more than usual, so I have taken the liberty of collecting them on your behalf to allow the owls to depart. I am keeping them in my office for you to peruse at your leisure.  _
> 
> _ Hope to see you out and about tomorrow, _
> 
> _ Minerva McGonagall _
> 
> _ P.s. Please tell Severus that I have spoken to Albus, and never will again. _

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?” he asked, holding out the note for Severus to read. 

“Oh,” Severus said, scanning Minerva’s neat handwriting. “I do believe she’s realized that Albus Dumbledore deserves nothing but contempt.” He laughed. “We might have a new ally, if your fan mail doesn’t crush her to death.”

“Fan mail,” Harry said scornfully. “Yeah, right.”

***

The dinner service appeared almost immediately on Severus’ dining table, and they sat. It was an impressive spread, and as Harry started uncovering the dishes, Severus poured the wine.

“Why are they like this?” Harry muttered, revealing an entire roast duck with a garnish of carrots carved into delicate roses. “Couldn’t they just send sandwiches or something? I mean…” He lifted the lid on a cheese souffle, a dish of ratatouille arranged in a whorl, and a plate of blackened asparagus. “What even is that?” 

“Asparagus spears,” Severus answered, handing over a full glass and moving to serve. “And I wonder how long it will take you to realize that everyone in the Wizarding World absolutely adores you. I’ve borne witness to it for years, and allow me to assure you, it used to drive me quite mad. Blasted Wizard Prince and his followers traipsing all over my school. Tracking mud and breaking curfew.” He gave Harry a professorial sort of look. _“Defacing_ things.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Harry said. “And if everyone  _ adores _ me, what about the Dark Lord, hmm? And… Umbridge?” He pulled a face. “Gonna try to tell me those two had squishy feelings for me while they were trying to literally torture me into submission?” 

Severus passed Harry his plate. “Quite a fool's errand, that,” he began. “But I suppose the Dark Lord channeled his bizarre reverence for you into violent obsession, yes,” he said. “The way he spoke of you, I think he did adore you, in a way. You filled his mind almost as much as you fill mine, though, of course, he wanted to kill you. And as for that disgusting toad woman, many disturbed people want to possess the good things they find. Break them. Own them.” He tapped the back of Harry’s hand. “Mark them as property.” Harry looked down at the scars and grimaced.

“That is… not a very good thought,” he said slowly. “Can you un-say that?”

“I could… obliviate you,” Severus offered. “Or… I could… locate Dolores Umbridge and ruin her life in a creative and underhanded way.” That made Harry blush, and laugh, which made Severus laugh, too. “Oh, was that romantic?” he asked. “You have a very endearing sadistic streak.”

“And  _ you-” _ Harry pointed his fork at him. “Have a truly terrifying one. I’ll dream about you standing on the Dark Lord’s neck for the rest of my life.”

Severus studied him. “In a good way?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed. “Other stuff, nightmares. That?” He tipped his glass in Severus’ direction.  _ “Hot.” _

Severus scoffed. “Stop calling me  _ hot,”  _ he said. 

“No.” Harry grinned down at his plate and speared one of the carrot roses. “You are hot, and I’m not going to stop saying it, and I wish I could have seen you fuck up a bunch more Deatheaters. Honestly. They must have been horrified when they realized you’d turned. Severus Snape? A traitor? RUN.”

“I think some of them rather were,” Severus allowed. “And I do apologize for not killing more of them in front of you, now that I know how much that  _ pleases  _ you.” He began cutting up his serving of duck. “Silly of me to be concerned that you might find mayhem off-putting.”

“I do find mayhem off-putting,” Harry answered. “But it seems like mayhem kind of  _ decreases  _ when you’re around.” He took a sip. “Y’know. ‘Cause of the spine-chilling mortal terror you inspire in everyone around you.”

“Are you trying to flatter me?” Severus asked lightly. “Because if you are, it’s working. And speaking of  _ chaos  _ and  _ violence, _ I’d have quite liked to watch your path through the castle. Mr. Weasley and Draco seemed suitably impressed. And after what you did to the Shack…” he trailed off. “I feel I may have missed some truly remarkable magic.”

“Now who’s being  _ flattering?”  _ Harry chuckled, but then he looked down at his plate, and sighed. “I don’t really remember that thing with the Shack, actually,” he said. “Just sort of… flashes. I mean, I know I exploded it or whatever, but I don’t remember doing it, or how I did it, or anything like that.” A pause. “Will you tell me what happened? And… after. You know. While I was… out.”

Severus just watched him poke at his souffle for a moment, wondering if he should try to deflect. It wasn’t a very pretty story, and he didn’t particularly want to upset him. But then, he’d gone through it, hadn’t he? Surely it would be better for him to know, at least in a general sense. Maybe Severus could tell it in a gentle way. There was no reason to be… explicit. 

“If you like,” he said, gesturing to Harry’s plate. “Eat, and I shall spin you the whimsical tale of a boy with _magical powers.”_ Harry snorted, and started to load a fork. “Very good. Where to begin? Hm. Well, there once was a Wizard Prince who despised authority, and defied every rule he encountered,” Severus began, and Harry stuck out his tongue. “He crept out at night, and _stole things_ and generally refused to be contained, to the great frustration of his keepers. He caused chaos and madness all around him. He cut down monsters, and infiltrated government institutions, and could turn invisible at a moment’s notice. An anarchist of the first degree. And then one day, while busy crossing lines, he discovered that he could break not only the rules of his masters, but the rules of God himself. He discovered, in fact, that there were no rules at all that applied to him, except for those he chose. So, when his lover, the _Angel of Death -_ who was, himself, a broken rule - was at risk of being bitten by a great snake, the Wizard Prince did not allow the laws of God or man to obstruct him. He stole his lover away, and screamed with such furious anguish that his voice burst out of him with the force of a supernova. And then, his lover saved, he went to sleep.” Severus paused. Harry was not eating. Harry was just staring at him with his chin in his hand and a look of such incredible adoration in his eyes that it gave Severus that _splintering_ feeling again. “Eat your food,” he said. “And stop looking at me like I’m the northern lights.”

“You are the northern lights,” Harry answered, but obeyed him, and turned back to his plate. 

“Better. Where was I? Oh, yes. Sleeping Beauty.” Harry scoffed, scooping up some sauce with a forkful of ratatouille. “The Prince was so exhausted after his daring rescue, that the Angel of Death had to carry him in his arms. But luckily for the Angel of Death, the Prince is incredibly light, and so the Angel of Death was able to flee back to the castle poste-haste, with the Prince’s two companions in tow.” He paused, thinking. “The… Knight of Baked Goods, and the…”

“Mistress of Books,” Harry supplied.

“The  _ Druid  _ of Books, yes,” Severus said. “So, the Angel of Death sent the Knight and the Druid into the school for Minerva.”

“What, McGonagall doesn’t get a fairy tale title?”

“No.”

“Haha. You’re so petty.”

“Fine, Minerva the  _ Inquisitor,” _ Severus said, topping off Harry’s glass. “As I was saying, the Inquisitor appeared, and recognized the Angel of Death as an enemy, and was moments from slaying him, when there came a  _ Terrible Voice.  _ And that  _ Terrible Voice _ announced to the entire castle that the Angel of Death was a traitor to evil, and so was…” he held out one hand. “The  _ Disciple.” _

“Is that Draco?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, that’s convenient. Did that really happen? Voldemort just told the whole grounds you were a traitor right then?”

“Oh, yes. Incredibly convenient for the Angel of Death. So, once the Inquisitor decided she didn’t have to perform an execution, they took the sleeping Prince down into the Dungeons to be revived. But there was only one way to do it, and it wasn’t ideal. They had to wake him up all at once, and then force-feed him about twelve healing potions.”

“Ick.”

“Indeed. The Angel of Death was very unhappy about it, but he had no choice. So the Angel, the Inquisitor, the Druid and the Knight all hit the Prince with  _ rennervate  _ at the same time, and the Prince screamed again and knocked everyone but the Angel of Death against the walls. He was very upset, you see, as he’d been convinced that his lover would not come when he called. He was so distraught, in fact, that the Angel of Death had to yank his head back by the hair to pour the potion into his mouth, right in front of the Inquisitor. But it worked, and the Angel of Death was very pleased, so he called the Prince by his  _ secret true name.” _

Harry froze mid-bite and looked up at him. “You called me a good boy in front of McGonagall, didn’t you?” he asked. 

“Yes I did.”

Harry put down his fork, and laughed. “No wonder she was so  _ perturbed.” _

“Yes, the Inquisitor was very perturbed, but the Knight told her to mind her own business. Very loyal, that Knight. Though he didn’t punch anyone.”

“Ha. What happened then?”

“Well, then the Prince fell back asleep, and the Angel of Death prayed over him for a long time, begging him to return. And he did return, and when he did, he was so confused that he tried to thrash right off the desk and onto the floor, so the Angel of Death told him  _ NO, _ and held him still, and the Inquisitor made a judgemental face. And then the Druid gave the Prince some water, and the Prince remembers the rest, I think.” 

“Wow,” Harry said slowly. “That is… definitely a story. What happened to Draco? I mean… the  _ Disciple.” _

“I’ve no idea, actually,” Severus answered. “He appeared with reinforcements some time later. I told him to flee the grounds after I took care of Rowle, but I suppose he went to Hogsmeade.” He collected some asparagus on his fork. “He’s rather more courageous than I thought.”

“Yeah, he really is.” Harry moved his food around his plate. “What happened with Rowle?”

“Oh, the Angel of Death cut him to the ground,” Severus said, watching what he was doing and wondering if it was on purpose.

“Killed him right proper, I bet.” Harry started making a figure-eight in his sauce.

“The Angel of Death is excellent at dispatching  _ villains,”  _ Severus agreed. “And the Angel of Death is going to have to insist that you eat at least half of that.”

“I’m eating it,” Harry answered. “Now, will you tell me why the  _ Angel of Death _ told the whole school about his  _ incredibly inconvenient soulmate? _ That surprised me way more than… pretty much anything else.” Severus pointed his fork at his plate, and Harry rolled his eyes, but started eating again.

“Well, after the Wizard Prince learned the awful secret, ripped the Angel of Death’s poor decisions right out of his arm and then knocked him unconscious, the Druid and the Knight took the Angel of Death down to the field hospital to help heal the wounded. And there was…” Severus held out his hands. “A  _ Werewolf.” _

“Oh come on, just tell it normal.”

“Fine.” Severus took up his goblet. “When I entered the Hall my reception was slightly less than warm. Lupin in particular came at me quite strongly, and in a moment of madness I decided to tell everyone that I loved you, and showed them all my arm, and then my Patronus. I thought you were already dead. I thought I had nothing to lose.”

“Jeez,” Harry said. “How’d Lupin take  _ that?” _

“Not terribly well. I do think he would have killed me if not for your friends, but he might be forgiven for that. He was… grieving. And then when Miss - Oh,  _ wait-”  _ Severus started to laugh. “I didn’t tell you-”

“What?” Harry asked, a little annoyed. “This story isn’t very funny.”

“Pardon - pardon me.” Severus took a deep breath and then a fortifying sip of his wine. “It’s just… we didn’t need to obliviate Luna Lovegood. Her housemates were listening from the top of the stairs.” 

Severus told him about the Ravenclaw girls, and their excellent defense of him in the face of a deranged former Professor, and how they’d called Harry his ‘friend,’ and Harry put his head in his hands.

“Oh my god, that is  _ awful,”  _ he moaned. “Whole  _ house  _ probably heard me  _ snogging you.  _ Mandy and Lisa?  _ Merlin.” _

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And the two of them saw us in the hospital, too, of course. Just like everyone else. They didn’t seem to be quite as upset by it as the others, though. No idea why. But my unforgivable lapse in secrecy turned out to be very helpful. Lupin was so shocked by their appearance that it gave me the opportunity to de-escalate.” He took a sip. “And then  _ re-escalate, _ of course.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Harry grinned at him. “Start  _ fights?” _

“I’ll have you know I have never started a fight in my life,” Severus said blandly. “Now, may I ask  _ you _ something? In exchange for my bedtime story.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry answered. “I suppose we’ve a lot of stories to tell each other.”

“Yes, I should think so. And I do hope to hear all of them, in time.” Severus took up the souffle and served himself a little more, and then offered it to Harry, who shook his head. “Will you tell me what happened in the clearing?”

Harry leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at him. “You want to know if Hagrid was telling the truth, is that it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Severus answered. “It seemed you made… an impression on him.”

“Well, I don’t remember everything, but I guess I can spin you a  _ tale, _ too.” Harry slid a little further down, and rested his bare feet on Severus’ legs. “Let me tell you the story of a Wizard Prince who was so fucking scared that he decided to piss off the Terrible Voice so that he killed him quickly instead of drawing it out.” 

Severus rested one hand on Harry’s ankle, stroking his fingers up inside the hem of his trousers, and over the delicate bones of his feet. “Is that what you were doing?” he asked. “I wondered.”

“Yeah.” Harry slid his legs a little further into Severus’ lap, slouching in his chair. “I was afraid he’d torture me before killing me, and I figured if I was annoying enough he wouldn’t. It worked, too.” 

“Tell me.”

“Well… I followed some Deatheaters to the clearing, and when I got there I just sort of yanked off my cloak. But in a dramatic way, you know. Just whipped it off and popped out. Everyone sort of  _ gasped.  _ And anyway, he called me arrogant, and I agreed, and I insulted him and his followers. I told him I stole you, and Draco, and that I killed his snake. Oh, and I called him revolting, and asked him if he was having sex with Bellatrix.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And then he killed me.” Severus put down his fork and narrowed his eyes. “What?” Harry asked. “What’s that face f - oh.” Harry’s foot had encountered Severus’ reaction to that story, and color appeared in his cheeks. “Oh. You’re getting…”

“Hard?” Severus asked, and when Harry tried to pull his legs back, grabbed them. “Yes I am. Rubeus said you  _ winked at him.  _ Did you wink at Hagrid while looking death in the face, Harry?”

“I - um… I think I did,” Harry said, and swallowed. “He was tied to a tree. And I - wanted to show that I wasn’t afraid.” There was a moment of silence, and Harry squirmed. 

“I really trained you up, didn’t I?” Severus finally asked, his voice low. “Sent my little Prince out into the world to humiliate the most feared Wizard on earth?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered breathlessly, shifting his legs across Severus’ lap. “You really did. I - cut my teeth on antagonizing you, didn’t I? Pushing you? Making you angry.” He curled his fingers around the edge of his seat. “And - I’m, uh, pretty sure the most feared Wizard on earth is you, now. Just - just saying.”

Severus’ eyes raked over him. “I think that excites you, Potter,” he said. 

“Everything about you excites me,” Harry answered. “Call me Potter again and take me to bed.”


	8. Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster, 38

“To bed?” Severus asked with a little sneer. “No, I don’t think I will. I think I’d like you on your knees right here at the table, actually. How does that sound?” 

“Sounds like you can read my mind,” Harry answered, and then pulled his feet out of Severus’ lap and sank to the floor. And there, on his knees, he watched as Severus pushed back his chair, separated his feet, and beckoned to him with one finger. “I said something else, too, you know,” he continued, moving to rest between Severus’ legs. “In the clearing. I said - something else.”

“And what was that?” Severus asked, sliding one hand into his hair to tip his head back. “Something designed to enrage, I’m sure. You are so good at that. Such a talent for inciting _violence.”_

“Yeah,” Harry said, sliding his palms up Severus’ thighs and scraping his teeth over his lower lip. “When he saw that I wasn’t going to beg, he told me to kneel.” He dragged his thumbs up the hard line of Severus cock where it was trapped beneath his fly. “And I told him no. I told him that there’s only one person on earth I get on my knees for, and that he-” Severus’ fisted his hand, and Harry gasped and finished a rush. _“That he wasn’t there.”_

“You said that to the Dark Lord?” Severus demanded.

“Yeah, I did,” Harry breathed. “Right to his face.”

 _“Colors,”_ Severus growled.

“Oh - god - yes sir.” Harry held one arm out to the side, directing a spray of colored sparks towards the floor. Green for _more,_ gold for _enough,_ Red for _stop,_ and Purple for _I don’t know._

“What a good boy,” Severus said, holding Harry still and using his free hand to work his belt and buttons open. “Tell me, Potter. Who is it that puts you on your knees?”

“You do,” Harry said, gazing up at him, his eyes wide and his lips parted.

“What was that?” Severus demanded, twisting the fist in his hair even as he pushed his underclothes out of the way to let his cock spring free. “Speak up.”

“You - you do,” Harry said again, a little louder. 

“And who am I?” He dragged Harry a little closer by the hold on his hair, and then held him in place an inch from the tip of his cock, and Harry whined and opened his mouth, just the tiniest bit too far away to touch. _“Who puts you on your knees?”_

Harry’s eyes flicked up and over his face like he was trying hard to think of the right answer. Like it was _critically important_ that he say the right thing. “S-severus Snape,” he managed at last. “Severus Snape puts me on my knees.” 

“Yes he does,” Severus said, and took Harry’s glasses off of his face and placed them carefully on the table. “And why is that?” He tugged Harry further up onto his knees to look into his eyes. “Tell me why.”

“Oh, god, please - let me -”

“NO.” He jerked his head back, bearing his throat. “Why do you let me put you on your knees, Potter?” he demanded again, and Harry let out a groan of frustration and spread his thighs against the floor. 

“B-because - I - ah - because you - you love me?”

“Oh, is that all? Everyone loves you. Do you get on your knees for everyone?”

_“N-no.”_

“Then _why me?”_ Severus watched the focus begin to drain from Harry’s eyes, and it was unspeakably lovely. Addictive. He hardened his voice. _“Speak.”_

“Because - I - trust you?” Harry tried, and Severus twisted again, harder, and he yelped and squeezed his eyes shut. “B-because…” He was already panting. “Because - I - _I - I need it.”_

“You need to be on your knees, do you?” Severus purred. “You need to submit to me?”

“Yes -” Harry’s hands dropped into his lap. _“Yes.”_

“Not to the Dark Lord, though, hm?”

_“Severus-”_

“Color?” Harry let out another frustrated noise, but this one was higher - more desperate. More like a whimper. _“Color?”_ Severus repeated, and green sparks poured to the floor. “Very good. One more try, now. Why do you submit to me, and no one else? I know you know why. Dig deep.”

“Because - you-” The last shred of analytical lucidity fled his expression as he seemed to think of the correct response, and what replaced it was truly gorgeous. Like looking into a pool of clear water, and at the very bottom, a treasure. “You can… _see me…”_ he murmured. “You _know me…_ but you… still…”

“Adore you?” Severus growled, dragging Harry’s head back in, pressing it into his groin, rubbing his face obscenely against his cock and scraping his cheek against the edge of his open zip. “Of course I do. I know your heart and soul, my love, and my God do I _want every part of you._ You think I’m the most feared Wizard on earth? You lead me around on a string, Potter, and _that_ makes the most feared Wizard on earth _you.”_

Harry moaned pitifully, burying his face into the open fly of Severus’ trousers, his breath warm and delicious on his skin, and Severus had to bear down hard to control himself. Because the heat in his belly was heavy, now. A desire that dug straight past lust and into the center of the earth. Volcanic. Primal. Having Harry on his knees did that. Well, having Harry any way at all did, really. He could have come right then. But he was in the mood to drag it out. So, he controlled himself. 

“Oh, does that feel good?” he asked. “It’s been a while since you’ve had me in your mouth, hasn’t it? Nearly a year, by now. And you’ve been on your feet for _so long._ It must feel wonderful to finally be on your knees where you belong.” Harry just nodded, rubbing his lips against his shaft. “Do you want it?” He nodded again, harder, and whined. “Open up, now.”

Harry opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out, and Severus tangled both hands into his hair to control him as he tried to take it all at once. 

“Ah ah, not too much,” he said gently, giving him hardly an inch, just enough to close his lips around. “Wouldn’t want to _overwhelm you,_ would I?” Harry resisted downward and he tightened his fingers, knowing that his unforgiving grip was the only thing keeping Harry from choking himself, which was very clearly what he wanted. “Get you used to sucking cock again, hm? Retrain you?” Harry’s tongue curled around him, lapping at the head like he was trying to convince him he deserved more. He was such a _good boy._ “Mm. You were so hungry for it while I had to send you back to Gryffindor Tower once I was finished with you.” Harry’s hands came up to tug at his trousers, and Severus moved one foot between his thighs, and pressed down. “Hands down, Harry,” he said, and when Harry didn’t obey, he pressed a little harder. “Harry. Hands. DOWN.” Finally, Harry gave a little strangled noise, and his arms dropped away, and Severus released the pressure. “Better. Stay still, now, and let me use you.” 

Harry’s shoulders relaxed, and out of the fingers of both hands drifted a little exhalation of bright white. Just a few sparks out of each finger, almost like snowflakes. 

_Please use me_.

Emphasis on _please,_ though how Harry could make his wandless magic so visibly submissive, Severus had no idea. He supposed the submission was coming right out of his soul.

“Oh, look at you,” he said, and pulled Harry’s head down into his lap, sinking into his mouth until his nose touched the open vee of his trousers. “Is that better? Hm?” He held him down. “Relax your throat. More. _More.”_ He could feel Harry struggling to obey - he really was out of practice - and Severus let out a grunt of pleasure and pressed his feet into the floor to thrust up. “There you go, love,” he purred. “That’s it. What a good boy.” But then Harry’s hands came back up to his thighs, and he yanked him off by the hair. “Ah - Didn’t I tell you no hands?” 

“Sorry,” Harry squeaked, and then coughed and swallowed. “Sir. I’m - sorry.”

“Interlace your fingers behind your back,” Severus answered. “Control yourself. No touching. Do you understand?” Harry nodded and obeyed, and Severus pulled him back in. “Now do as I say, and I’ll give you a reward.” 

He said it hoping that Harry would look up at him, which he did, and Severus looked right into his eyes as he pressed inside. And then, finally, when they fluttered closed, he started fucking his mouth. And talking, of course. Talking to Harry about how beautiful he was, and how precious, and what a _treasure_ and what an _angel_ and what a _warrior prince_ so _brave_ so _fearless_ such a _good, good boy for keeping his hands behind his back that way,_ and _oh, look how much you like it, my my, look how hard you are you must want me to touch you,_ and _do you want me to touch you, love?_ And, _that feels so good, I could fuck your mouth for hours,_ and _, would you like to know how good it feels? Want me to share it with you? I could, you know. Just like that night before our separation, hm? Would you like that? Feel what I’m feeling? I don’t think you’ll cry this time. What color would that be?_

Green was the answer to that question, and to every other question, so Severus held Harry’s head down hard into his lap and touched his wand to his temple. The effect was immediate. As soon as the final word of the incantation left Severus’ lips, Harry tensed, and his throat spasmed, and the hands he’d kept so carefully out of the way seized Severus’ legs and dug in. Severus didn’t punish him for it, though. He just fucked Harry’s mouth through his peak, and through the aftershocks, and kept fucking his mouth as the tension left him and his hands fell back to his sides. And _that -_ might be his very favorite thing to watch in all the world. 

Harry’s strength leaving him.

“Seeing you like this is like looking into the _sun,”_ he growled, closing one hand around the back of Harry’s neck, damp with sweat, and thrusting into his mouth. “You are the only thing on earth that can undo me this way. My _God.”_ He could feel the fever-heat of his release gathering in the base of his spine. That molten, unstoppable force, bursting to be freed. “Are you ready to take it?” he asked as Harry’s throat contracted convulsively, his body notifying him that he needed air. Or maybe that was just the spell, overwhelming him with sensation despite the very real physical limitation of having gotten off mere moments before. “Color to swallow my come, love?” He tightened his hands, fisting the one in his hair hard enough to tear, and sinking his nails into the back of his neck. The pleasure was incredible. He could only imagine what Harry was feeling. _“Color to swallow my come, Harry,”_ he demanded _. “Color.”_

Green, and then green again, out of both hands, sparkling out over the floor like bright glass beads. _More. More. More._

“There’s my good - boy.” And then Harry looked up at him again, his lashes clumped together with tears and his eyes glazed, and Severus tipped right over. It took him rather by surprise. “Harry, _fuck-”_ he gasped, digging his heels into the floor, pistoning up into Harry’s mouth so forcefully that he almost knocked his head into the leg of the table. “Fuck _fuck-”_

Harry’s eyes were barely open as he swallowed, and Severus could see that he was fighting to keep them that way - fighting to stay focused - like the sensations spilling over from Severus’ body were filling him up. Like they were going to brim out with his tears. And watching that struggle, Severus knew his teeth were bared. He could feel the savagery on his face, but he did not try to hold it back or control it, and he did not close his eyes, either. He just pumped Harry’s mouth full, and watched him take it, and as he felt Harry swallow the final spurt, he pulled out and spilled him onto his back on the floor. Pinning his head down, Severus kissed him before he could so much as draw breath, smearing the saliva on his lips and thrusting his tongue into his mouth, chasing the depravity - the vulgarity - wanting _more,_ wanting _everything._ And he swallowed the squeak that came out of him, and then the moan that followed, and Harry’s hips jerked up against his thigh, and Severus realized that he was hard _already._

Harry had been so thoroughly drenched in Severus’ pleasure that’d he come almost instantly, and Harry had taken all of it. All the sensation, and all the _emotion,_ and all the _wanting,_ and _needing,_ and Harry was still taking it, and Harry was hard again.

Well. 

It wasn’t agony Severus was flooding him with this time, was it?

He broke the kiss and turned his face in Harry’s hair, grinding down against him, sliding one hand up under his hips and cupping the back of his head with the other. “Oh, _yes,”_ he breathed as Harry started to tremble, rutting up into his thigh and letting out a sound so high and thin it was barely audible. “Oh, _yes,_ Harry. I must be pouring something intense into you to make you shake like this. Is that my desire you’re feeling? Is it too much? Is it _hurting you?”_ Harry just buried his face into his chest, clinging to him in desperate overstimulation.

“S-s-severus-” he sobbed. “P-please t-take it off - _p-p-please-”_ The surge of lust that rolled through Severus’ body at those words was _unholy,_ and Harry cried out, practically tearing at him. “The - _charm_ \- S-severus - _please_ \- take it - off - p-please- I - can’t I _c-can’t-”_

“You _can,”_ Severus growled into his ear, using his hand to rock Harry’s hips up off the floor, grinding mercilessly against him, wishing desperately that he could recover as fast as Harry could. Because Harry deserved to be fucked into the floor when he was like this. Just - absolutely - _destroyed._ “You can, and if you come, I’ll take off the charm. I’ll take it off, and you’ll feel so much _better._ You just have to come one more time. One more, my love - my _precious boy_ \- one more, one more, one-”

It was practically a convulsion. 

Severus had to hold him down. 

And then, after he was done, Severus had to mend some plates.

***

_‘Get some rest, Deatheater scum.’_

_‘Deatheater scum.’_

That was the only thought Draco’s brain seemed able to form as he lay on his cot, shivering and sweating, his body curled away from the malevolent chill of Dementors seeping under the door. It was what his interrogator had spat at him as he tossed him inside: _‘Get some rest, Deatheater scum, and try to think of something useful to tell us in the morning.’_ And then, incensed, Draco had sneered at him from the floor.

 _‘How’s this for useful? You’re Walter Perkin, right? I’m certain I saw you dragging muggleborns off the street in Diagon Alley. You had your badge on. Maybe you should be in this bloody cell instead of me, hm?’_ And then _Walter Perkin_ had sneered right back at him with such venom that Draco immediately knew he’d made a mistake, and jumped up, but before he could say another word, the door slammed shut in his face. He’d tried anyway, though, shouting after the Auror that he’d fought with Harry Potter - stood by his side - that Harry Potter would tell him it was true - just contact Hogwarts and ask for Harry Potter, or Severus Snape, or Minerva McGonagall, or Ron Weasley, or Hermione Granger or, _anyone that fought in the battle - they all saw him fight_ -

But it was no use, and he knew it. He’d already said those things a hundred times during his six-hour interrogation, and the Aurors had just laughed at him. 

_‘You must think we’re stupid, Mr. Malfoy,’_ one had said. _‘You’re from a legacy family. Your father was in our custody more than once, and you’ve got the Mark. Your mother is a murderess, too, though we’ll get to that later. Do you honestly expect us to believe that you were undercover with a family like that? Come now.’_

And Draco, fighting to stay calm, had answered: _‘No, I’m not telling you I was undercover. I’m telling you I’m a traitor. And as for my family, yes, my father was a Deatheater, which is why he died in the battle, but my mother isn’t a ‘murderess.’ It’s not called MURDER during a WAR. And of COURSE I have the Mark. How could I turn if I wasn’t a Deatheater to start with? If you just contact Hogwarts, Harry will tell you. I let him out of the basement at the Manor when he was captured and-’_

But they didn’t listen, and they refused to contact Hogwarts, and they refused to tell him where his mother was being held, or if they’d hurt her. Every time he tried to ask, they deflected, and countered with some new horrible question about himself. About how old he was when he took the Mark, and why he did it, and what role he and his father had in the Dark Lord’s regime, and why the Manor had been chosen as the Headquarters, and what went on there.

He told the truth as much as he could, and they took notes, and placed a little glass sphere on the table that he was pretty sure was recording him. He answered all their questions, relatively secure in the knowledge that he was objectively a turncoat, and had fought at the right hand of the Chosen One, and that they would have to believe him eventually. It was around hour three, then, when the Aurors kept asking him over and over who he’d killed, and he kept responding _no one,_ that he began to realize exactly what he’d been arrested _for._ Because it wasn’t just trying to protect his mother (obstruction), or the high crime of having the Dark Mark (terrorism), oh no. It was his _wand._ Because the wand he’d had in his hand when he was taken into custody wasn’t his, or even his mother’s. That wand, which he’d won during the latter half of the battle, was someone else’s, and that someone had done a lot of bad things.

He tried to tell them that he’d taken it from a stunned Deatheater, which was true, and that he couldn’t tell them _who_ because he’d been masked, which was also true, but they did not seem impressed. Instead, they produced the wand, cast _priori_ on it right in front of his face, and Draco watched in abject horror as _crucio_ after _crucio_ after _avada_ after _imperio_ flowed out of it. Dozens of unforgivables, one right after the other. 

Just… dozens.

It had not occurred to him to try to get a clean wand - that taking a wand from a Deatheater meant taking the echoes of their crimes - and, of course, even if he had thought of it, there had been no time. The war had only been over for _days._ But, _‘that wand isn’t mine,’_ didn’t appear to hold water with the elite band of ponces that had him chained to a table, and if they dosed him with _veritaserum,_ which they had threatened to do several times, he had, of course, cast multiple unforgivables himself. The _cruciatus,_ and the _imperius,_ anyway. Before he switched sides. 

And so he’d been angry and afraid when they were done with him for the night, and had irritated the Auror that took him down to holding, and shouted uselessly through the door after him, and hadn’t stopped shouting until a very distinctive creeping cold drifted into the room, touching his heart like the finger of a long-dead inferi. That was when he’d known that the Government was, in fact, still using Dementors, and that he was to be guarded by them for the night, down in the holding cells in the bowels of the Ministry. He’d even opened his mouth to demand why the fuck the Ministry was still using _Dementors,_ but as the cold increased, he retreated to his cot, as far away from the door as he could get. 

And there he lay as the night wore on, curled up on his side facing the wall in his khaki jumpsuit, with the number 42487 stenciled on his chest, unable to think of anything much more useful than: _Deatheater scum._

He hugged his knees to his chest against the shivering, and against the icy tendrils of despair crawling across the floor, and against the awful images filling his brain, even though he knew full well that making himself small would not help. Nothing would help save a _Patronus,_ and not only did he have no wand, he didn’t know how to cast one. Because he was -

_Deatheater scum._

He screwed up his eyes, but there was no blocking out the memories the Dementors were pulling out of him, and imprinted on his closed eyelids he saw Professor Snape’s charmed razor, sitting innocently in his medicine cabinet, and he saw himself cast to the floor at the Dark Lord’s feet. He saw the Dark Lord’s red eyes, hovering weirdly in his pale, snake-like face, and heard his high, clear voice saying, _‘kiss him, then.’_ And he felt Rowle’s foul breath on his cheek, and heard his voice, too, low and guttural, saying, _‘come now, love. He’ll lose interest eventually.’_ And Rowle’s thick fingers dragging across his lips, and Snape’s fine one drawing down his cheek. _‘I could mutilate him, if you like.’_

He covered his mouth with his hand, and forced a different thought into his head, trying to make it louder than all the rest. Louder than his marking ceremony, and louder than Greyback’s yellow, jagged teeth, and louder than Dumbledore’s blue eyes looking up at him from the floor of the Astronomy Tower. 

_No,_ he thought, making it almost a shout. _NO, Draco. That’s the Dementors. That’s what Dementors do. They drive you insane with regret and shame. They tear out grief and fear and pain, and that’s what they’re pulling out of you, now. It’s over. You know it’s over. It’s not real._

_‘Deatheater scum,’_ came his own mind’s response. _‘Deatheater scum. Deatheater scum. Deatheater scum.’_

He shifted closer to the wall until he could press his face against it, calling up everything Snape had taught him about controlling his own mind. All the techniques, and the breathing and the discipline and visualization, but even as he did, he knew it was no good. Occlumency didn’t work on magical creatures, and despite pulling his barriers over his thoughts like layers of chainmail, he still heard Granger’s screams, and saw her thrashing on the floor of his father’s house, and saw Bellatrix doing the deed. Aunty Bella, another member of his _legacy family._

_Deatheater scum._

_No, no,_ he thought again, forcibly replacing that image with the memory of disarming Goyle when he tried to kill Hermione in the Room of Hidden Things, and then Harry dragging him onto a broom with the inferno raging below - pressing his face into Harry’s shirt to block out the smoke.

 _You saved her,_ he thought, knocking his forehead against the wall as an image of Ron Weasley foaming at the mouth tried to intrude. _You saved her, and Ron lived, and Harry saved you. You are not Deatheater scum. McGonagall said so, didn’t she? And Harry would have left you to burn if you were. He didn’t leave you then, and he won’t leave you now. He won’t, and neither will Snape. Harry forgave you for hurting his friends, and Harry will notice that you’re gone, and he’ll come for you. They will come for you._

_‘Don’t you know how expendable you are?’_ his brain very helpfully supplied in Severus Snape’s iciest tones, followed by the sensation of a finger poking him in the chest. _‘Expendable.’_ Like a chant coming out of his very soul, pouring forth with the frigid sorrow rolling over him like a cold-plunge pool. _‘Expendable. Expendable. Deatheater scum. Just like your father. Deatheater SCUM.’_

He hit his head a little harder against the wall, countering as best he could, trying to pull up an vision of red hair, and eyes the color of amber - the color of toffee - a man asking to see his Mark from across the table like it didn’t taint him all the way to his core, like it was just an interesting scar, like the ones on the man’s freckled arms. But again the picture twisted into Ron, seizing and frothing, moments from death because Draco Malfoy was -

_DEATHEATER SCUM._

_That’s the Dementors,_ he thought desperately. _Just Dementors,_ and he dragged the memory of Snape staking Rowle to a tree to the forefront of his mind, curling into it like a blanket. 

_What did he say, after it was done? ‘Your guardian angel wants you to live, and so do I.’ Your guardian angel. That’s Harry. Why would Snape say that if it wasn’t true? Harry wants you to live, and so does Snape. He said it, and he told you to run to save yourself. And Harry sent him after Rowle in the first place, didn’t he? Harry saved you, and you saved Harry, and he healed your arm, and you sat with him on his sheet, and they won’t just let you or your mother rot in a cell. They won’t._

_You just have to wait._

_Be patient._

_They’ll notice you’re not there. They’ll notice._

_Just wait._

_They’ll come._

_Just wait._

***

“Morning,” Neville said, dropping down beside Professor Sprout at breakfast.

“Good Morning, Neville dear,” she answered. “No Augusta today?”

“Not today, no. She didn’t like the owls much.”

Pomona laughed. “I should think that will be the norm for a while.” She scanned the Great Hall, and then gestured towards Professor McGonagall near the far wall. “Minerva thinks she’s solved it. See?”

Neville turned to see Professor McGonagall waving her wand over a wooden crate with a large piece of parchment tacked to the front. 

“Is that… a picture of Harry?” he asked, squinting, and Pomona nodded. “Well, I suppose birds can’t read, eh?” He laughed.

“She’s hoping they’ll accept it as a delivery point,” Sprout said, and then sighed. “Still no Mr. Potter, though. I expect he’s exhausted.”

“I’d think so,” Neville answered, and grinned at her. “Why? Hoping he’ll do some more _plant magic?”_

“Well, the grounds are absolutely a disaster, and if what he did with the wounded is any indication of the breadth of his abilities, I should think he’d be able to put it right in a trice.”

“Likely could. I’ve never even heard of magic like that.”

“No, neither has any of the staff. Not one of us. Astounding.”

Neville turned his attention to his food. “S’pose Professor Snape knew,” he said.

Pomona frowned a little. “Odd situation, that. But you know, I did overhear him talking to Peeves once while I was bringing some ingredients down to Horace. Something about putting wartcap powder into Amycus Carrows’ pants.”

Neville inhaled a bit of scrambled egg. “W-what?” he coughed. “In his _pants?”_

“MORNING!” Ron crowed, ruffling Neville’s hair. “What’s funny?” He took the seat next to him and tugged Hermione down beside him. “You alright mate? Don’t asphyxiate.”

Neville coughed again and wiped his mouth. “I’m fine,” he managed. “Professor Sprout was - just telling me that she overheard Professor Snape telling Peeves to put wartcap powder down Amycus’ _pants.”_

“Oh, yes,” Hermione agreed, reaching for a teapot, which Ron intercepted and took up for her. “When Professor Snape visited us he mentioned he had an alliance with Peeves. I got the impression he _really_ hated the Carrows. Thank you, Ron.”

“No problem, luv,” Ron answered, sounding pleased, and replaced the teapot to take up the cream and sugar before addressing Neville. “But that bloke - Amycus - he _crucioed_ Harry, didn’t he? I’m surprised he’s not a _corpse.”_ He paused, and frowned. “Unless he _is_ a corpse. Anyone kill the Carrows?” He looked around the room, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “OI! ANYONE KILL THE CARROWS?”

 _“Ron!”_ Hermione hissed. 

“What? Are we pretending we weren’t killing Deatheaters?”

“The Carrows got arrested!” Charlie called from another table. “Kingsley took ‘em. Said they were hanging from the ceiling in Ravenclaw Tower!”

“Nice.” Ron said. “Bet Harry did that.” 

“Ha!” Neville laughed. “Bloody pricks beat the absolute _tar_ out of me, didn’t they?” He looked wistfully out the windows. “Must be why they were always covered in dung and itching so hard. I figured it was other students. Wish I’d known.” He sighed. “Coulda saved a lot of energy prioritizing the right target instead of wasting jinxes on Snape.” 

“Did you jinx Snape a lot?” Hermione asked with interest. “He never said.”

“Oh, a bit,” Neville answered. 

“Sure he deserved it at the time,” Ron laughed. “How were you supposed to know he was a spy?” Then he looked around again, frowning. “Speaking of spies. Still no Malfoy? What is he, hiding?”

“I dunno,” Neville said. “Haven’t seen head nor tail of him since yesterday lunch. Have you?” Professor Sprout shook her head. 

“He wasn’t at dinner last night?” Ron asked. “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice. Maybe he scarpered. His mum, too?”

Neville shrugged.

“That's kind of odd,” Hermione said. “Where could they have gone?” She frowned. “Maybe Harry knows. They’re staying in the Dungeons, aren’t they?”

“I doubt Harry knows his own _name_ at this point, Hermione,” Ron said, chuckled, and then looked at Professor Sprout and turned red. “I mean. Uh. What are we working on today? Anyone know?” He stirred his tea. “How’s that… uh… crushed greenhouse? And - hey! What’s that big box with Harry’s face on?” He pointed.

“That’s for the owl storm,” Neville said. “You two missed it yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s like a PO Box,” Hermione said. “Good idea.”

“What’s a peeoh box?” Ron asked, but just then a single black owl swooped into the Hall and began to circle. “Uh oh. First owl. Moment of truth.” 

Every eye followed the bird as it circled for a moment, and then landed on the edge of the great crate and cocked it’s head, seeming to regard the image of Harry tacked on the front. It hopped a bit, and cocked it’s head the other way. Then a second owl swooped in and alighted beside the first, and the first owl puffed its feathers importantly, turned around, and dropped the letter inside the box. 

The hall burst into cheering. And then, one by one, the rest of the post began to pour into the windows. A flood of owls, circling the hall and releasing a deluge of new missives into the box. But not every letter was for Harry, of course, and not every owl had a letter. There were some missives for the other teachers and staff, some packages, and some newspaper owls, one of which fluttered directly down to Neville and extended a leg for payment.

“Thanks,” Neville said, dropping a coin into the little pouch.

“You still take the prophet?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Gotta keep up with the enemy’s side, eh? Dead useful during the war. Yesterday’s issue was very anti-You-Know-Who, though. Celebratory and somber. Lots of _the awful scope of the tragedy_ and _the immeasurable courage of the victors,_ that sort of thing. Seems like they’ve done a full about-face. Cowards.” He unfurled the paper, took a sip of tea, and choked on it. “Fuck _me,”_ he spluttered, and Ron and Hermione leaned over to look. 

“Ooh,” Hermione said. “That’s not really… what happened.”

Emblazoned on the cover was the blaring headline: SCANDAL ROCKS HOGWARTS, above an artist's rendering of Snape and Harry at the moment the war was won. The Dark Lord, bleeding on the ground and bursting into flames, and Severus Snape, rather rudely stylized and drenched in blood, standing up, turning around, seizing a very angelic-looking Harry by the waist and hair and kissing him like a bird of prey consuming a small animal. 

_‘Reconstructed from eyewitness accounts,’_ they read. _‘Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster, 38: right. Harry Potter, Chosen One, 17: left. He Who Must Not Be Named, on fire: center. See page two for detailed interviews and analysis.’_

“Snape didn’t _dip him like that,”_ Ron scoffed, and opened it to page two. “Tabloid _rubbish.”_ He scanned the contents. “Oh, shit.” He looked back at Hermione. “Let’s, uh… let's not show this to Harry.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some art to parts 1, 2, 3, and 4, so go check that out if you haven't yet! They are just tacked on to the ends of the parts under "bonus art page."
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting !!


	9. Courtship

By mid-day, Severus had snuck out of bed twice. Once to use the restroom and drink some water, and once to eat something. But both times he’d returned to Harry’s side to find him undisturbed and absolutely unconscious, so after feeding and watering himself, he summoned the book he’d been reading before the battle and settled in for the long haul. Why not? He had nowhere to be but in bed with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Either Slept Too Much Or Not At All, and as he reclined against the pillows, said boy turned towards him with a sweet little hum and buried his face, and Severus opened his book, and promptly realized that he did not remember a single word of it. So, he started it over, even though he’d been half way through it four days before. Apparently the carnage and subsequent stressors had wiped it from his mind. No matter, though. It was a light bit of reading - a guilty pleasure, in fact - and only about nine-hundred pages long. 

“What’ya reading?” Harry murmured sleepily from his lap sometime later, and Severus looked down to see two bright green eyes blinking up from within a cocoon of blankets. That was one thing that would take some getting used to. Harry apparently liked to steal all the bedclothes into a pile to burrow into. Severus didn’t think he meant to do it, though. It seemed more like some sort of survival instinct. 

“Nothing important,” he said, closing his book and setting it aside. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh.” Harry stretched and yawned. “You’re gonna like my answer.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yeah.” He grinned. “I am _starving.”_

Severus turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re quite right. I do like that answer,” he said. “Did I reset you last night?”

“Mm,” Harry hummed. “I think you scooped out my insides.”

“And what did I fill you with?” Severus asked, drawing one finger down his cheek. “Something good, I hope.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s a word for what you did to me last night.” Harry’s eyes traveled over Severus’ naked chest, and over his collarbones to his shoulder, and then he reached out and touched the scar left by Bane’s arrow. “You have a lot inside you,” he said slowly. “Just… a lot.”

“I did warn you,” Severus answered, and Harry’s fingers slid from his shoulder to his neck, tracing the fingernail marks he’d raked into Severus’ skin during his final moments of desperation. He hadn’t drawn blood, Severus knew, but there was definitely a mark, and he took Harry’s hand away, kissed it, and sat up against the headboard. “Shall we request a basket? We could take it out by the lake. If your extended camping trip hasn’t given you a loathing of the outdoors, of course.”

“You really meant the picnic thing, huh?” Harry asked from beside him, moving his fingers to Severus’ hip, caressing his white skin and then brushing his thumb over the ridge of bone. “Gonna court me, Master Snape? Make an honest man out of me?” 

“Come now, Potter. I never lie.”

 _“Ha.”_ Harry raised his arms over his head and arched back against the pillows, and Severus tracked the movement, watching as he groaned extravagantly and then relaxed back to the bed with a sigh. “Bit early for an outing, though, isn’t it?”

“Early?” Severus asked, giving his head a little shake. “Oh, no, you’ve slept nearly sixteen hours, I think. It's closer to tea than anything else. Might be two o’clock.”

That made Harry stop luxuriating. “Two? Jeez,” he said with a frown. “I’m really sleeping a lot. Is that bad?”

“No,” Severus answered. “Your body is rebuilding itself. And even aside from the immense amount of magic you expended during the battle, you’ve been very active the last few days.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry laughed. “Robbing a bank, fighting a war, dying and coming back to life, panic attacks, knocking out house-elves, and… uh… how many times did you get me off yesterday?”

“Four.”

 _“Four,”_ Harry said, and finally sat up, too. “I thought I was going to die during that last one. Just - fucking - _dissolve.”_

“Mm,” Severus answered, swinging his feet to the floor and reaching his arms towards the ceiling, twisting this way and that until his back and shoulders popped. “I do like to torture you, don’t I?” He stood. “You’re very sensitive, and very vocal. I’d like to hear you beg that way every night for the rest of my life. And possibly after lunch, too.” And then he turned around, and saw that Harry had put his glasses on, and was watching him. “Can I help you?”

“No,” Harry answered, giving him a crooked grin. “I’m just looking. You’re all naked.”

“Inspecting my scars, are you?” Severus asked back, and Harry scooted to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge, also quite naked. 

“No,” he repeated. “I’m just looking.” He tipped his head to the side in a come-hither sort of way, and when Severus moved closer, ran his fingertips across a silvered slash on Severus’ abdomen that was years and years old. “But I do like your scars.” He leaned forward and kissed it. “I like them a lot.”

“I know you do,” Severus said, reaching down to lift Harry’s chin. “It’s one of your most charming qualities. But you’ve made a mistake, you know.”

“What mistake?” Harry asked, his lips parting as Severus’ tipped his chin a bit higher.

“You told me you were hungry, and I won’t allow you to distract me until you’ve eaten.” He kissed him on the forehead. “Such a pity.” 

Severus sent him into the shower and floo’d the kitchens, and then, their request placed, joined him. And under the water with his sprightly young lover, he had a very good time refusing all advances, even going so far as to pin his arms when he tried to get too handsy, and by the time they came out, Harry was very annoyed, and very, very pink.

“Youuuu…” Harry muttered as Severus pushed him out of the bathroom. “Have too much self control.”

“I dare say, one of us must. Or we’d starve to death.”

“Pff.” Harry made to stalk into the bedroom, but before he could make his dramatic exit, he caught sight of the decorative picnic basket waiting for them on the coffee table and was derailed. It was sporting a red and gold satin ribbon, and Harry walked over to it, instead, and touched the little bow with a small frown. 

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m gonna get spoiled,”

“Oh no,” Severus answered dryly, and tugged him into the bedroom. “Let’s get dressed, shall we? The sooner you eat the sooner I can fulfill your other needs.”

“Or you could just fuck me really fast right now and I could eat afterwards,” Harry tried, his little frown abruptly replaced with a roguish grin. “People do that, I hear. Have quickies. It’s not always… you know. A religious experience.”

“I do not ‘quickie,’ Potter,” Severus answered. 

“Please?” 

“No.”

“C’mon. _Please?_ For me.” He pouted, and batted his eyelashes, and Severus rounded on him. 

“Making me repeat myself, are you?” he purred, grabbing him by the neck and walking him backwards until he was up against the armoire. “You’re so disobedient today. Perhaps I should have gone harder on you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Harry breathed, bringing both hands up to close around Severus’ wrist. “What are you trying to do to me?”

Severus leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I’m trying to take you on a picnic, love. Are you going to be a good boy and allow it?”

“Fuck,” Harry gasped as Severus kissed his temple and tightened his fingers. 

“Are you going to be a good boy and let me take you out, Harry? I’d like to.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry managed, so Severus let him go and gave him a pat on the cheek. 

“Very good. Get dressed.” Harry sagged, looking incredulous, and Severus pointed to Hermione’s little bag where it was sitting on top of his dresser. “Clothes, Potter.” Then he turned away and opened his closet, listening to Harry’s disgruntled mutterings. He was, apparently, unhappy about being told no - big surprise - and Severus chuckled to himself as he selected a pair of slacks and a plain button-down. 

_“My God,”_ Harry grumbled, his arm in the little bag up to the elbow. _“Hot. Just… so hot. Bloody maniac. Fucking. Go ahead and just -”_

“What was that?” Severus asked. “Do speak up, it sounds delightfully insulting.”

Harry glared into the bag and yanked out a worn green t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “I SAID: _you are so hot. How is that so hot?_ Turn me on any more and see if I _explode._ Or just _DIE.”_ He stepped into the trousers and buttoned them up. “Just go ahead and see if I- oh, shit.”

Severus looked up from where he was rolling up his sleeves to accommodate his bandage, and saw that Harry had frozen with his shirt half-way on and his glasses rather askew. Severus frowned.

“Do you have a question?” 

“Oh. Um. No robes?” Harry asked. “We’re… going outside.” Severus looked down at himself. Black shirt, black trousers. Nothing terribly different. 

“Well, it’s not as if I’m the Headmaster at the moment, Potter,” he said. “Why should I wear my robes? Are you wearing _your_ robes?”

Harry’s eyes traveled over him, dancing across his bare forearms, his bandage, and bracelet, and then down his legs, and back up to his face. “No, I suppose not,” he said. “It just… surprised me. And. Your sleeves. You look so… casual. It’s, uh. Different.” 

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “It’s just a shirt, Potter,” he said, and flexed his left hand. “Everything I’ve been hiding has either been revealed to society at large, or ripped out. No reason to cover myself in layers at this late stage. But if I’m _disturbing_ you, I suppose I could put on a waistcoat. Robes, too. If you like.”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly, and then swallowed. “I’m not… disturbed.” He looked at Severus’ bare feet. “Hey… uh. Do you remember those boots you wore to the Christmas Party? The black ones. With the… laces.”

“Oh, you remember my outfit at the Christmas Party, do you?”

“Yeah. I think you had them on the night I took Felix, too,” Harry said, and then blushed radiantly. “They… suit you.”

“How sweet,” Severus answered, waiting for Harry to grin in embarrassment and look away before continuing. “Shall I wear them?”

***

Severus wore the boots, and having somehow disarmed Harry with his sartorial choices, was able to convince him quite easily that he should stay in the dungeons and let Severus go out first and then call him. And that was for the best, because Severus did not know the state of the grounds, and he didn’t want Harry to see anything he wasn’t prepared for. As far as he knew, there could still be bodies - or fragments of bodies - out there. And even if there weren’t, he didn’t particularly fancy sending Harry anywhere at all by himself just yet. Not while he was still letting out bursts of magic unpredictably.

“Wow,” Harry said, watching from the edge of the bed as Severus cast a disillusionment charm over himself, his body taking on the exact color and texture of his surroundings. “That is a strong charm.” He got up and started waving his hand back and forth between Severus’ body and the wall. “Stand in front of the bookcase!” Severus just grabbed his wrist and then kissed his palm. 

“Focus, love. If I’m waylaid I will send you a message.”

Once the door swung had shut behind Severus’ camouflaged body, Harry sat on the sofa to wait, and almost immediately found his knee jiggling up and down. He was agitated, and that was annoying. Because it wasn’t just Severus riling him right up to the ceiling without bringing him back down again that was bothering him, and it wasn’t just his _rolled up sleeves,_ or those _boots,_ either. Harry was… nervous. How stupid. 

Severus was just going to the grounds - had been gone for mere minutes - and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t been apart for almost an entire year. Yet there he was, sitting on the sofa positively vibrating with anxiety even though Severus was probably still in the bloody castle.

Embarrassing.

He got up and went into the bedroom, and stood there for a moment looking for something to do. The bed was unmade, so he waved his hand and put it to rights. He picked up the bag Hermione had given him, and looked at it, wondering if he should unpack it or something. He wasn’t sure what was even in there. But he also wasn’t sure how long they were staying at Hogwarts. 

Better to leave it. 

He tossed it back onto the dresser, where it landed with an alarmingly loud _clang,_ and then went into the bathroom and looked at his ragged reflection in the mirror. He grimaced. He looked like he’d been fished out of the woods, not least of which because his hair was way too long. It was curling against his collar and over his ears, and his fringe was in his eyes. Not exactly his usual style, but, of course, he hadn’t had much time to worry about whether or not living in a tent was making him look like he lived in a tent. Did Severus have scissors? Probably not. Severus’ hair was longer than Harry had ever seen it - well below his shoulders - and despite his quip about going grey due to the stress of seeing Harry’s dead body, it was still as ink-black as ever, and that suited him, too. Just like those _boots._

He didn’t think the messy mop on his own head looked quite as refined. And Severus was always calling him _radiant,_ the soppy bastard. He looked like a street urchin.

He twisted a lock of his hair in his fingers. If he tried to cut it by himself, he’d probably butcher it. Like Aunt Petunia. Maybe Severus knew how to cut hair. That was the sort of random thing he would know how to do. He should ask him to - 

He stopped, and scoffed at himself. He was supposed to be some sort of demigod, wasn’t he? 

_Scissors._

He scrunched up his face. _Back to normal,_ he thought as hard as he could. _Normal Harry hair. Not too short. Just normal. Go back to normal, hair. Ready… normal._

And then he opened his eyes to see that his hair had, in fact, obeyed his command. It was about three-inches shorter all over, and sticking up all the more wildly for that, and now he didn’t look like a street urchin, he looked like a _sea urchin._

“Ack,” he whispered to himself, horrified, and tried to flatten it back down. It didn’t work - it never did - and pawing uselessly at his head, he suddenly realized what he was doing, and why, and laughed. He wasn’t nervous because Severus was gone. He was nervous because Severus was _taking him out._ On a… date. And he had never been on a date before, unless he counted that disaster with Cho. And that… was pretty funny, and so was the sudden mental image of Severus being showered with confetti at Madam Puddifoot’s.

A _date._

He regarded himself in the mirror, tilting his head this way and that and inspecting the marks on his neck. There hadn’t been enough time yet for any of them to fade, and they were starting to overlap. Bruises and teeth marks all over him, scratches all over Severus, and here he was worried about his _hair_ on his _first date_ with the grown man that had given him four orgasms the day before. He was always doing stuff wrong, wasn’t he? He’d had Severus’ hand over his mouth before he’d ever even said his first name for Merlin’s sake. Didn’t it usually go first date, first kiss, regular sex, _then_ adventurous sex? What had he done? First kiss, adventurous sex, regular sex, and finally, after two years, a war, a near death experience… and a date.

_Definitely not the normal order of operations, there, Potter._

“First date with your kinky, bitey, murderous soulmate,” he cackled, and ruffled his hair back up into its usual madness. But then he had a thought, and brushed his fingers through his fringe. It was still just long enough to cover his scar if he wanted it to, and maybe he’d done that on purpose. He supposed that was his ‘normal hair.’ But… maybe he didn’t have to have it that way anymore. Maybe could just… take his scar off. Just… _decide it_ right off of his face, and never be stared at for it again. 

He glared at the little lightning bolt in the mirror, wishing it had just vanished when Voldemort died. But then his bracelet warmed, and he looked down. 

_[Have you gotten into any trouble during my absence?]_ appeared, and reading it, Harry let his hair fall back into place. His wild, untamable, rat’s nest of hair. Severus liked it, he knew. He was always kissing it, and grabbing it, and running his fingers through it. And Severus liked his scar, too, didn’t he? His hair, and his scar, and… him.

 _No,_ he sent back. _Just making myself handsome for our date._

 _[I await your radiance with bated breath]_ Harry snorted. _[I’ve made it through the castle without incident. But I must warn you, the grounds are damaged. I don’t want it to be a shock]_ A pause. _[Shall I return, or shall we press onward?]_

Harry thought about it. He _did_ want to be outside, and he did want to be outside with Severus. And he’d cut his hair and everything.

 _Grass messed up?_ he asked.

 _[Yes. Burned in places, dug out in others]_ appeared _[There is some detritus as well, but nothing… organic]_

That probably meant no carnage. 

_I could fix it up, though, huh?_

_[I should think so]_

He ruffled his hair one more time and then went back into the living room for the basket. 

Picnic time. He could do this. Easy. It would be fun, and he wasn’t nervous. He was fine. And he was definitely not dreaming, or dead.

 _Call me then,_ he thought. _I can handle it._

When Harry appeared beside the lake, Severus had already lifted his charm and was standing with his hands behind his back in a patch of scorched earth, looking for all the world like his fairy-tale sobriquet. The Angel of Death, at home in his battlefield. He cut quite a striking figure, too, and it took Harry a moment to fully register his surroundings. But when he did, he found himself rather startled despite the warning. Because it was more than damage. It was… destruction.

“Oh,” he said, looking around. The brilliant May sunshine had filled pools of shadow in the many gouges deep in the ground, and in a scattering of gigantic footprints. There were uprooted trees strewn about, too, and a forest of arrows still sticking out of the blackened grass like deadly flowers. “Fuck.”

Severus stepped up behind him to take the basket from his hand, and wrapped his free arm around his waist. “Yes, I know,” he said. “I thought we might clear a place under the beech tree and worry about the rest after you eat. What do you say?”

Harry looked back at him. “Giants,” he said. 

“And centaurs,” Severus added. “And _that,”_ he pointed to a particularly large scorch mark, “was the most deadly magical creature of all.” 

“There wasn't a dragon, was there?”

“No. That was a Wizard, of course. Come.” He led Harry over to the tree, and then stood back and watched as he crouched down and laid his palm flat on the bare earth. Almost immediately, a ripple of new sprouts began to spiral out from his fingers in all directions, revealing themselves as they reached for the sun. Ryegrass, and fescue, and clover, pouring out around him in a flood of life. The magic passed directly underneath Severus’ feet with a sting and shiver of power, and he turned to see the new greenery reaching all the way to the edge of the castle itself, rolling into the trenches and up the other sides, leaving incongruous hillocks that were, nevertheless, carpeted with with thick, luxurious grass. When he turned back, Harry was looking up at him from the ground. 

“Better?” he asked, and Severus waved his wand to conjure a blanket.

“I think you might actually be a deity,” he said, spreading the tartan and then kneeling down. 

“That’s silly,” Harry answered, sitting beside him.

“As you say, Saint Harry.” He began untying the red and gold ribbon, which, upon closer inspection, was emblazoned with a pattern of tiny lions. “And I see you’ve given yourself a haircut.”

Harry grinned sheepishly and looked away. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Severus answered. “Still plenty for me to sink my fingers into.” He reached into the basket and began pulling out container after container of food. Egg and watercress sandwiches on crusty bread, savory pasties, sliced fruit, salad, and crudites, and finally, individual custard tarts. There was a charmed pitcher of lemonade, too, and plates and cutlery, and Harry inspected the tarts to see that they were emblazoned with lightning bolts.

“Oh, pff,” he said, leaning back on his hands and looking out at the lake while Severus dolled out the food. “More scar-themed food.” Severus chuckled lightly.

“The adoring public,” he said. “I anticipate many Harry Potter Handprint homages, too, once word of what you’ve done to me reaches the populace.” He handed over a full plate, and turned his bandage up towards the sun, stark white against his black sleeve and silver bracelet. “Far too symbolic to waste.” 

“As long as there isn’t merchandise,” Harry said, and took up one of the sandwiches. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?” 

“Oh, no,” Severus answered. “Though it is beginning to itch quite badly.”

Harry frowned at him. “But… you aren’t scratching it.”

“Of course not. One must never scratch. And I have, as you say, too much self control.”

Harry scoffed, and turned back towards the water. “A master of reigning yourself in,” he said. “Which is why you definitely didn’t suck me off on your desk that time.”

“It was only _once,”_ Severus shot back. “You challenge me, as usual.”

“Didn’t have a hard time telling me no in the shower.”

“I assure you, Potter, it takes a herculean effort to deny you even your slightest whim.” 

Harry laughed and took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as he scanned the glittering water. The breeze was cool, and the sky cloudless. And Severus was out in the sun with him, eating sandwiches. “Hey, Severus?” he finally asked. 

“Hm?”

“This is nice.”

“Yes it is. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, and hesitated. “So… Dead?” He glanced back at Severus sitting beside him with a questioning look, and Severus responded by pointing to the hundreds of arrows sunk deep into the ground around them. Some of them were broken off and trampled, and some of them were blackened, and Harry nodded. “Right. Not dead,” he said. “Bad stuff is real.” Severus’ hand found his thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

“The bad, and the good, and the confusing. All real.”

“Right…” Harry said, and trailed off, and a ripple in the lake caught his attention. “Oh, look!” A huge eye appeared out of the water, scanned the shore, and then sank back out of sight. “Aw, I’m glad the squid is ok.” 

“Oh, I doubt anyone dared harass the squid,” Severus agreed. “That would have been… truly pointless.”

“Well, good. That squid is pretty…” Harry trailed off and squinted. “Uh… What the fuck is that?” Severus followed his gaze out over the water to see a ghostly face rise eerily up out of the surface. And then a second. “...what… the fuck.”

They watched in stunned silence as the two Deatheater masks seemed to look at the shore, and then at each other, and began to dance back and forth in a jaunty sort of way, turning this way and that and bobbing up and down on the ends of the tentacles supporting them. And then a third tentacle appeared, holding a severed arm, and began gesturing with it at the second mask like it was delivering a harsh but floppy rebuke.

“Severus…” Harry said slowly, as the masked tentacles re-enacted a silent but intense argument. “Dead.”

“No. You are not dead. Just… getting… a puppet show,” Severus answered slowly. “From the giant squid.” Harry looked over at him, and then back at the squid, and Severus burst into laughter. _“P-p-perfectly normal -”_

Harry glared at him for as long as he could stand before laughing, too, which was about three seconds. And when he finally gave in, he found that he absolutely could not stop. Not least of which because he had never seen Severus laugh so bloody hard in his life. Usually all that man allowed was a single chuckle. This - was hysteria. And every time they managed to stop, the squid would do some new absurd thing, like make the masks kiss, or slap one of them with the hand, and they would be overcome again. And then finally, after what felt like an eternity of breathless laughter, the two masks bowed to the shore, and the hand did a sort of limp salute, and Harry quite collapsed against Severus’ shoulder, nearly weeping, and then he snorted, and _that_ made Severus laugh harder. They just laughed and laughed until the tentacles withdrew back into the depths, and Severus covered his face with his hands as Harry drank some lemonade to try to make himself stop.

“Jesus,” Harry gasped. “Do you think it’s doing that for everyone, or is it special for us?” 

Severus wiped his eyes. “Oh - I’ve no idea,” he finally managed. “My god. I love that squid. Oh.” He pointed, and Harry followed his finger to see the squid’s eye appear one more time. So he waved, and the severed arm appeared again to wave back. 

“Wow,” he said, and grimaced. “I wonder whose arm that is.”

“Deatheater,” Severus answered dismissively, pouring himself a lemonade, too. “Didn’t you see the mark? It could be anyone.”

“Do you think it killed them? Or… just, sort of… got the bodies?” Harry frowned. “Maybe it grabbed someone while I was being carried to the castle. Just… off the back of the procession.” He mimed snatching something out of the air. “Yoink.”

“Possibly,” Severus allowed. “Fantastic way for a Deatheater to die in any case. Humiliating _and_ wet.”

“Hm,” Harry said, picking at his plate and breaking a tiny crumb of pastry off of one of the scar-tarts. “Can I ask you something?”

“Be my guest, Potter,” Severus answered. “I’m sure it’s something terrible.” He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth.

Harry gave him a half smile. “A bit, I guess. I was just wondering. I know you hate Deatheaters, but - were you… friends with any of them?” He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… you spent a lot of time with them, right? Especially at first? You couldn’t have hated them all. If you had, you wouldn’t have joined.”

Severus leaned back on his hands, chewing slowly as he considered the question. He supposed he had been rather… _taken_ with many of the older Deatheaters in the beginning, though he certainly would not have called them his _friends._ But there had been some. Especially at first, as Harry had said. 

“I was,” he began carefully. “But… not with anyone you might have encountered. I assure you that I despise every single Deatheater you have ever met.” He hesitated, but Harry did not prompt him. Harry just waited, and after a moment longer, Severus went ahead. “I had two particular friends, both of whom died quite young. During the first war. Evan Rosier was one - he was killed by Alastor Moody soon after your parents died. He resisted arrest, and nearly escaped, or so we were told. Aged twenty-one. The other, you might be familiar with. He was your Godfather’s brother, and, I understand, Kreacher’s favorite master.”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking confused.

“Yes, Regulus,” Severus continued. “He tried to defect at eighteen, and was killed for it. I was quite shocked at the time. That he would leave. I was a year older, and at the height of my loyalty. I thought…” he trailed off. “He was a good friend. We were inseparable at school, after I alienated your mother with my… beliefs. It drove your Godfather and his associates quite mad. Seeing us together.”

“Oh…” Harry began slowly. “Regulus Black was your friend?”

“Yes,” Severus answered. “I was devastated when he was executed. That was the first tiny crack in my allegiance to the Dark Lord, though it was, at the time, very tiny. Mostly what I felt then was betrayal. And then, of course, when your mother was killed, that loyalty was shattered forever, and I saw the loss of Regulus in a slightly different light.”

“Severus…” Harry said, and at his tone, Severus looked over at him. “That - um. That isn’t how Regulus died. He wasn’t… executed.”

  
  


***

Art break!

***

"It's just a shirt."


	10. Just A Boy

“What do you mean by that?” Severus asked. “Did Sirius tell you something?”

Harry sat up and crossed his legs. “Yeah, he did. But he told me the same thing you just told me… that his brother was a Deatheater, but young, and he got cold feet, and tried to defect. That they killed him for it. But…” He hesitated. “You remember what I told McGonagall about the night Dumbledore died?”

“Yes,” Severus answered. “I hadn’t heard very much of it before. Quite a story.”

“Well, I told her that Dumbledore took with him to find a Horcrux, and that it was the locket. The one you saw try to strangle me in the pool.”

“Yes.”

“And that was true, but not the whole truth. I didn’t tell her all of it because it’s kind of… upsetting. It still… sort of… bothers me.” Harry looked at his hands and took a deep breath. “There were a lot of layers of protection on the Horcrux’ hiding place. Probably that doesn’t surprise you. But it was deep inside a cave at the bottom of a sheer cliff. Somewhere on the coast, I dunno where. There was a doorway in the stone that you had to open with blood, and inside, this huge black lake. I thought maybe we would have to swim, that maybe the locket was at the bottom, but Dumbledore said no. He said it was at the center, and he sort of - felt around, until he found a boat. It was totally invisible, but Dumbledore still knew. It was pretty amazing how much he could sense by touch alone. Or whatever he was doing. But that boat - that was the only way to get across the water to where the Horcrux was hidden.” Severus watched in perfect silence as Harry pressed his trigger point before continuing. “So - there were these - bodies. In the water. Dumbledore said they were Inferi. But… hundreds. Maybe thousands. Muggles, and other people Voldemort had killed. Dumbeldore told me that as long as we didn’t touch the water, they wouldn’t wake up.”

That time, the quiet was long enough that Severus could not withhold his incredulity. Back then, he’d believed then that Albus would not risk Harry’s premature death. Obviously he’d been mistaken. “He took you to an underground lake filled with Inferi?” he asked, his voice artificially even. 

“Yeah. But it was okay for a while. We made it to the middle, and there was a little island, and a basin filled with some kind of potion. The locket was inside, and Dumbledore told me that the only way to get to it was to drink.”

“You said… he was sick,” Severus said slowly, a sense of dawning horror welling up inside him. “That’s what you told me through the bracelets that night. That you… had to make him drink something, and it made him sick.” And he hadn’t answered. He’d left Harry in the silence, and then later that night, he’d left Harry in the dirt. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “He made me promise to obey his orders before I went with him, and I did. I did everything he told me. It took ages, but I got him to drink it all. The whole basin. And it made him - sort of - scream and… beg. Like he could see someone else there. Like there was someone hurting him, or hurting someone he loved. Other than me.” He shivered and rubbed his arms. “Near the end, it made him thirsty, just - incredibly thirsty - he was _screaming_ for water. But the only water that would stay in the cup was from the lake. He’d told me not to touch it, but I panicked. I touched the water. Scooped it up with the cup for him. So he’d - stop - screaming. We only just escaped.” Harry pressed his trigger point again, and held it. “And I forgot what you taught me about Inferi, too. Fire. I forgot. But he - he remembered. Even though he was so weak. He beat them back and… we got the locket.” 

“He made you-” Severus began, nearly speechless with fresh outrage. “He took you from that castle that night to use you for-”

“No, that’s not the point,” Harry interjected, shaking his head like there were cobwebs in it. Or maybe a great sea of black water, filled with ghostly bodies. “The point is the _locket._ After Dumbledore died - after you left - I found it in my pocket and… it was a fake. Like I told McGonagall. It wasn’t the real Horcrux. It was… well. It might be easier just to show you.” He turned his head to call out. “Kreacher?”

_CRACK!_

Kreacher appeared before them, as usual, with a low bow. “Masters Potter and Snape!” he said to the ground. “A beautiful day for a picnic. Are Masters enjoying the tarts?”

“Oh, yes, thank you Kreacher,” Harry said, glancing at the lightning bolts. “But - could you do me a favor?”

Kreacher laughed wheezily at his phrasing, and Severus could not help but think that his ebullient attitude at being summoned was deeply jarring after the story he’d just heard. “Kreacher lives to serve Master Potter.”

“Right,” Harry said uncomfortably. “Er… can you bring me Master Regulus’ locket? I just want to show it to Severus for a minute. Would that be alright?”

“Yes, Master Potter! Master Regulus’ locket is Kreacher’s prized possession!” He disappeared with another _crack,_ and reappeared so quickly that Severus barely had time to give Harry an inquiring look before he’d returned with the jewelry outstretched. “A treasure of the highest order!” he croaked, and Harry took it from his hands, opened it, and handed the note inside to Severus.

> _To the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B._

A chill raced up Severus’ spine, and he touched the initials with one finger. 

_R. A. B._

“He wasn’t executed,” Harry said softly from beside him. “He died in that lake. It was Regulus. He sacrificed himself for a seventh of Voldemort’s soul, and Kreacher barely made it out.” Severus did not look up from the scrap of parchment. “He didn't defect,” Harry continued. “He turned. He was a fighter. Like you.”

“Master Regulus was very brave,” Kreacher said, great tears welling up in his eyes. “Kreacher served Master Regulus as best he could, but Master Potter destroyed the locket. Kreacher could not.” He looked at his gnarled hands. “It is Kreacher’s greatest failure.”

“Actually Kreacher, Ron destroyed the locket, not me,” Harry said, and when Severus finally looked up, saw that Harry was watching him. “And Severus gave us the tool we needed to do it. Without that, we would have failed, too.”

“M-master Snape,” Kreacher croaked, and bowed low again, a fat tear dripping from the end of his nose, and Severus very carefully folded the note back up, and held out his hand for the locket. When Harry handed it over, he placed the note back inside, and returned it to Kreacher, who put it around his neck. 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” he said. “I’m sure Regulus would have been honored to see how you fought for him.”

“Thank you, Master Snape,” Kreacher repeated, standing tall even as he continued to weep. “Master Regulus wanted the Dark Lord to fall.”

“And he has,” Severus said.

“Master Potter made him kneel.”

“Yes.”

“And Master Snape killed him.”

Severus looked out at the lake. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I did.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said, and there was another _crack_ of apparition, and silence.

“I didn’t know that,” Severus finally said. “I thought he - I thought…” he trailed off, and took a deep breath. “How different things might have been if he’d trusted me, then. If I’d been worthy of confidence - my God. The war might have been over.”

“There were already four other Horcruxes,” Harry said. “I don’t think anyone but Dumbeldore could have figured out what they were. You would have died.”

“Maybe,” Severus sighed. “Did Sirius know?”

“No,” Harry answered. “No one knew. Not even his own mother. Just Kreacher. Dumbledore risked his life - and mine, I guess - for that decoy. There was no reason to go there. No reason to make him drink that potion. The real Horcrux was in Number Twelve all along. Kreacher brought it back the day Regulus died. We _had it.”_

“So many terrible mistakes…” Severus mused, and when Harry leaned against his side, rested his temple against the top of his head, and did not finish his thought. Instead, all he said was, “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

“Me too,” Harry answered. “And for nothing.” There was a long silence, and Severus watched the breeze ripple across the lake, concentric circles fading into a mirror-like smoothness under the bright spring sun. “...Severus?” 

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Are you going to ask me if I loved him?”

“Yeah.”

Sitting there in the shade of the beech tree with Harry’s head on his shoulder, Severus tried to remember what emotion he’d felt when he found out Regulus had been killed. Disappointment, certainly. Abandonment. Betrayal, as he’d said. But he’d been embarrassed, too. Regulus had been his recruit. A year younger than Severus himself, Severus had encouraged him to take the Mark at seventeen the way he had. _It’s not that bad,_ he’d lied. _It only hurts for a second, and it’s worth it. The inner circle, Regulus. Come on. Don’t be a coward._

Don’t be a coward.

Had he loved Regulus? 

No. 

“If I’d loved him I wouldn’t have made him a Deatheater,” he finally said. 

“But you thought that was a good thing to be, then,” Harry answered.

Well, that was certainly true, wasn’t it? He’d believed in Lord Voldemort with his whole heart and soul in those days. He’d gone willingly into the darkness, and dragged others along by the hand. He’d kissed Regulus Black on the mouth, and delivered him. 

“As I said. Many terrible mistakes.” He turned his head to inhale the scent of his own shampoo in Harry’s hair. “I ruined his life,” he said. “He was just a boy.”

“Who ruined _your_ life?” Harry asked. 

“Who recruited me, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Lucius.”

Harry lifted his head. “Lucius?” 

“Oh, yes,” Severus answered. “And since we’re telling awful stories… I met Lucius Malfoy in my first year at Hogwarts. He was a sixth year, and he was everything I wanted to be. Wealthy, handsome, intelligent. A pureblood heir of the highest order. Respected, well-bred. Groomed for greatness. And I was a poor, ugly, ratty Halfblood, with the last name of a Muggle drunk. I admired him. I wanted to possess what he possessed. The prestige, the admiration. The riches.” He sighed. “I had nothing but my intellect.”

“Your intellect is hardly something to sneeze at,” Harry said. “And I don’t believe you were ugly.”

Severus scoffed gently. “I’m ugly _now,_ Harry _._ Why shouldn’t you believe I was ugly when I was seventeen?”

“Because you’re not ugly now,” Harry answered, and kissed his cheek. “And your opinion is bad and wrong, and you should be ashamed.” 

Severus turned to look at him, meaning to glare. But Harry’s eyes were sparkling and sincere behind his spectacles, and Severus found himself abruptly unable to summon the necessary annoyance. It was that weakness again, and though it wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation, it was, at least, starting to feel familiar. Even if it stole his scorn right off of his face.

Even if, as he’d thought before, it peeled him quite apart.

“I love you,” he said, pulling Harry into a kiss by the back of his neck. “Even if you are blind.”

***

By around four in the afternoon, Ron and Hermione were ensconced in the library, repairing one book at a time with Madam Pince and Professor Flitwick. They’d been at it all day, with a short break for lunch, and it was tedious and lengthy work. Ron, of course, was pretty pants at it, but he was doing his best. 

“A bit more of a _spiral movement,_ there, Weasley,” Flitwick said. “You’ve accidentally translated this one, see?” He handed the book back and Ron opened it to a random page.

“Oh,” he said. “What language is that?”

Flitwick took it back and frowned. “I’m… not sure.”

“Bollocks,” Ron muttered.

“Hm?” Hermione asked, twirling her wand over a stream of books that were presenting themselves to her in an orderly queue to be cleaned and restored. 

“I said _b-”_

“Hullo all,” Neville called from the door. “Greenhouses are all put to rights, and I’ve been sent to help with the books! Oh. Nice one, Ron.” 

Ron looked back down at the volume in his hands to see that it was issuing great quantities of black smoke. “FUCK!” He flung it away, and Madam Pince shrieked and slammed it closed. “Sorry,” he said. “Neville startled me!”

“I just walked in.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it!” Ron said defensively, and then sighed. “I think I need a break.” He turned to Hermione. “Fancy a walk or anything? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Do you mind, Madam Pince?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all, dear,” Madam Pince said, scowling at Ron. “Maybe a bit of fresh air will clear your _heads.”_

“I can take your queue, Hermione,” Neville offered. “Go ahead and take a stroll.” He sat in her place. “But I warn you, don’t go down by the lake.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you want to see Harry and Snape _snogging_ on a _picnic blanket.”_

“Mr. Longbottom!” Flitwick gasped. 

“What?” Neville laughed. “Are we turning a blind eye? I think it’s great, personally. Never seen Snape so bloody happy. Terrifying bastard.” He took up the first book. “Plus, it’s in the newspaper. Everyone in Britain knows.”

“Language,” Madam Pince sniffed. 

“Sorry, Madam Pince,” Neville said. “But… I mean… a picnic? Professor Snape? Harry’s taken his fangs right off.” He chuckled. “Probably keeps them in his pocket for emergencies.”

“Pff,” Ron said. “He’s still pretty pointy, mate. Just ask You Know Who’s _gaping_ _neck wound.”_ He turned to Hermione and clapped his hands together. “To the lake, shall we?”

***

“Want to put up the dome and fuck me already?” Harry asked. He had Severus on his back and was straddling him, and though Severus could not say precisely when that had happened, he did not have any particular complaints about it. In his lap was a truly excellent place for Harry to be. 

“In the grounds?” he asked, sliding his palms up Harry’s thighs to rest on his waist. “How reckless of you.”

“Your mouth says reckless,” Harry laughed, leaning over to kiss him again. “But your body-” he sat back onto what was, by that time, a very insistent erection. “-says I want to fuck Harry on the picnic blanket until he screams. Have I eaten enough, do you think? You could put up the dome and just…” he ground down. “Make me scream.”

Severus dropped his head back to the blanket with a little groan. “You’ll suck me dry like this.”

“I’d settle for that,” Harry answered with a cheeky smile. “Sucking you dry, I mean.” 

“Why, you _little devil,”_ Severus growled, reaching up to grab his hair. “Are you trying to get me fired for public indecency?”

“You already resigned.” 

***

“Wow!” Hermione gasped, stopping short just outside the entrance hall. “Did Professor Sprout do this, do you think? It was still burned when we got here this morning, wasn’t it?” Ron looked down. 

“What, the grass?” He toed it a bit with his sneaker. “Yeah, it was, but I thought Sprout was busy with the greenhouses.” He looked out over the grounds. “Maybe it was Harry. Like Dobby’s grave. He did that with his bare hand.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose,” Hermione answered. “It’s so green!” 

It was, in fact, so lush and perfect that it looked almost fake. Like a golf course. She said so, and Ron very predictably asked what ‘golf’ was, and then laughed at her when she described it. 

“Why don’t they just pick up the ball and put it in the hole, then? Why hit it with a little stick?” he asked as they strolled out towards the lake. “Seems like a couple of extra steps just to get a ball in a hole.”

“Well it’s a _sport._ There are rules. Why don’t you just grab the snitch as soon as the game starts?”

“Because it flies away,” Ron answered simply, and then gestured at the great footprints and trenches in the ground ahead. “This does look like Harry grass, though. It's all over. Oh, wait, is that them?” He pointed towards the pool of shade under the beech tree, and Hermione followed his finger.

“Must be.” She shielded her eyes, trying to make out the figures. “They’re not snogging though, are they? Looks like - oh.” She stopped suddenly. “Yes they are snogging.”

“C’mon,” Ron laughed, pulling her along. “We know they’re in love or whatever. No big deal. If anyone should be cool, it’s us.” But then he stopped, too, as in the distance, Snape very visibly seized Harry by the hair and pinned him to the ground. “Jeez,” he said, turning red as a little yelp floated over to them on the breeze. “Guess he doesn’t like it when Harry’s on top.” 

“Goodness me,” Hermione whispered, flushing herself as another noise reached them. It sounded almost like a pain noise, but… she was pretty sure it was not a pain noise. “Maybe we should go back…?” she began, but Ron was already cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ron, no! Don’t -”

“OI!” came a very loud voice from the direction of the castle. “GET A ROOOOOOM!”

 _“What is wrong with you?”_ came a second voice, sounding appalled. 

“Jesus _fuck,”_ Harry gasped as Severus broke the kiss and looked up, still holding him to the blanket with both hands. And then Harry gasped again as Severus’ thigh tensed and shifted between his legs. “Oh, god - Severus - _get off!”_

But Severus did not get off. Severus just looked down at him with a wicked twinkle in his eye and repeated the movement. 

“Well, what a surprise,” he began quietly as Harry pressed his lips together, his hips twitching up against his will. “Your friends have located you. They’ve still about fifty meters to walk, though. Do you think I could make you come that fast? I could try.”

“I thought you didn’t - believe in - _quickies,”_ Harry moaned, turning his face away, and Severus leaned over him to kiss his cheek, pressing down a little more firmly.

“You’ve inspired me,” he whispered. “Oh, my, you’re so hard. What a shame.”

“Sorry!” Hermione called out, sounding truly mortified, and Harry squeaked, and Severus chuckled and pulled back. 

“Better sit up, love,” he said under his breath, as Harry, panting, looked up to see Ron and Hermione closing in on them. 

“Fuck,” he complained, and then glared over at Severus. “I _told_ you to do the dome.”

“So you did,” Severus allowed, inconspicuously adjusting himself before giving Harry a little nudge with his boot. “Sit up. Or do you want them to know how much you like being on your back?”

“Pretty sure they already _know,”_ Harry hissed as he propped himself up, crossed his legs, and put his hands in his lap, positively glowing with embarrassment. “Pretty sure they just saw you pin me to the ground by my _hair._ Ugh. Just _kill me.”_

“Such drama,” Severus murmured back, and then continued in a more carrying voice. “Good day, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger. So nice of you to join us.” 

“Hullo,” Ron answered, plopping down beside him. “Decided to venture out of the Dungeons at last, eh? Got bored? Oh, look!” He picked up one of the tarts and inspected the decoration. “Scar tarts! Ha.” He took a gigantic bite, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that Harry was very clearly wishing to be consumed by the earth. Hermione, however, seemed well aware of what they’d done, and sat a little more sedately on the very edge of the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her. 

“Sorry,” she said again, a fresh flush pinking her cheeks as she looked at Severus leaning back on his hands and then quickly back at Harry. “Neville said he saw you out here and… um…we wanted to…”

“We wanted to see ya, mate,” Ron added around his mouthful of custard and pastry. “Make sure you’re _alive_ and everything.”

“Why would I not be _alive?”_ Harry asked, rolling his eyes and clasping his hands together very tightly. He was blushing furiously, and Severus stared at him until he looked up, enjoying the way his eyes widened and then locked onto the picnic basket like it was absolutely the most fascinating thing on earth. 

He was so adorable when he was mortified.

“Just in case your _boyfriend_ ran you into the ground,” Ron answered, very carefully keeping his own eyes on his tart. “You know. Since he’s your _boyfriend._ And you two seem pretty _intense.”_ He glanced up and then immediately back down. “In a… romantic way. Or. Something.” He cleared his throat, and Severus narrowed his eyes. _“Boyfriends_ are like that, I hear.”

“I am getting the distinct impression that someone has pressured you into saying the word _boyfriend,”_ Severus said, and Ron’s ears turned red. “Aha.”

“His brothers,” Hermione offered, and grimaced at Harry, mouthing, _‘I am so sorry.’_

“Are you getting a reward?” Severus asked snidely. “For risking your _life.”_

“Yup,” Ron answered. “Two galleons. Dunno if they’ll believe me, though. Seems like they thought I’d be too bloody scared. Which I clearly am not.” 

He did look a little scared, though, and Severus let out a single huff of laughter. “I can see that,” he said. “Tell me, Mr. Weasley, are your brothers aware that you slapped me? It seems that would preclude any concerns about my title.”

“Ooh.” Ron grimaced. “I tackled you, too. And no.” He paused. “I said sorry, though, didn’t I? For the slap.” He glanced sideways at Harry. “It wasn’t for fun or anything.”

“Yes you did,” Severus answered. “And don’t trouble yourself. Harry and I have discussed it. Care for another tart?” 

Ron looked appraisingly at the platter, and then at Hermione. “Told ‘em we were mates, didn’t I? Bastards never believe me.” He took a second pastry, and addressed Severus. “You look pretty different without your whole outfit on, by the way. Less like a bat.”

“Oh, thank you,” Severus answered smoothly. “Harry’s eyes fell out of his head.”

Harry scoffed. “My eyes are in my _head.”_

“So, can we call you Severus, or what?” Ron continued. “Now that the war is over and everything, and we all dropped out of school, and Harry’s staying in your rooms.”

“He likes to be called the _angel of death,”_ Harry muttered, and Severus’ lips twitched. 

“I have many titles. But let me ask you this, _Ronald,_ how much do you think your brothers might bet that I won’t allow it?” 

“Sneaky!” Ron laughed appreciatively around his mouthful. “Head of Slytherin house!” 

“Former,” Severus corrected him, and then turned his attention to Hermione where she was sitting very stiffly. “And how go the repairs? From what little I’ve seen, they seem to be progressing nicely.” He offered her the tarts. “Go on, Miss Granger,” he said when she hesitated. “I don’t bite.”

She turned scarlet and looked at Harry. “Oh. Um…” she giggled in a horrifically uncomfortable sort of way, and took one. “Thank you. Ahem.” She looked down at it. “The repairs are going well… full staff and some volunteers. We were doing… books today.” She seemed to gather her courage. “Ron set one of them on FIRE.”

“I did not!” Ron retorted. “It was only smoking.”

Somehow, their bickering seemed to set Harry at ease, and Severus sat back and watched the three of them chatting, offering comments where they seemed appropriate, and asking a few questions. But for the most part he simply observed. It really was quite charming how comfortable Harry was with the pair of them once his embarrassment had faded, and he stayed relatively relaxed as they discussed the damage to the hallways and statuary, and the broken windows, and the slashed and blackened paintings. The conversation stayed quite light, in fact, even when Harry asked if they were staying in Gryffindor Tower, and the talk turned to Ron’s family, which had, of course, suffered a terrible loss.

“Oh, no,” Ron answered. “We’re not staying in the castle, we’re all staying together at the Burrow. My mum wants everyone home, you know…” he trailed off. “So we sleep there, and then Charlie, Bill, Hermione and I have been coming back to school to work, while Percy and Ginny are staying home to help with… arrangements. She… er. She asked about you. My mum. She keeps asking, really. Wants to know how you are.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and Severus tugged him back to lean against his side. “What did you tell her?”

“Well,” Ron began, and sighed. “Mostly I just told her that you are staying with _Severus,_ here, and that he would launch himself into space before letting anything happen to you, and not to worry herself.” 

“Accurate,” Severus murmured, and kissed the top of Harry’s head. 

“But it’s good we’ve seen you,” Ron continued. “Details help sell it, you know.” He paused, taking in Harry’s body language, and Severus’ hand on his waist. “For example, I will be telling her that you had a delightful picnic down by the lake, and I will _not_ be telling her that _you,”_ he pointed at Severus. “Are so _grabby._ She’d probably have an aneurysm if she saw that.”

 _“Grabby,”_ Severus muttered, and then turned back to Hermione. “And your family? I suppose I should have inquired earlier. You were quite a target, fighting with Harry as a Muggleborn. Did they make it out?”

“Oh…” Hermione seemed rather taken-aback by that question. “My parents are in Australia under assumed names, actually. Wendall and Monica Wilkins. I enchanted them. They’ve no idea they have a daughter at all, and I’m honestly not quite sure how to get them back just yet. I mean… I suppose I’ll have to travel there and reverse my charmwork… But even after that, the two of them are well placed. Might have to sell a house, that sort of thing.” She chuckled a little, but it sounded sad, and Ron wrapped one arm around her. “I thought I was probably going to die.”

“So did I,” Ron said, and Severus found himself impressed. It had not occurred to him how far Harry’s friends might have gone to accompany him on his hunt for the Horcruxes. To change your own parent’s names and magically rearrange their minds so that they believed themselves childless and moved to another country was extreme. Ron’s own method of tranfiguring a ghoul to fool the ministry lackeys into believing he was infected with Spattergroit was slightly less impressive, but still admirable. 

“Well, not everyone can be a _master spy,_ can they?” Ron shot back. “Ghoul bloody _loved it._ He’s still got my hair on.”

“Still?” Harry laughed. “He must just be happy to be part of the War Effort.”

“Maybe we can nominate him for an order of Merlin,” Ron agreed. “Or a knighthood! Sir Slimy-Pate. He can be in all the pictures.”

“Give him a lightning bolt scar and he can go as me,” Harry said ruefully. “Assuming there are… you know… _events.”_ He shuddered, and then sat up a little. “Oh! I was going to ask you. Professor McGonagall sent me a note saying I got a lot of letters. Did you see how many? Can’t be that much, right?”

“MATE,” Ron said. “It’s a LOT.” And he launched into a dramatic retelling of the post-box Minerva had set up for him, and the sheer quantities of owls that had apparently come to deliver Harry praise. It was around the time that Ron estimated the number of letters in the _hundreds_ that Harry turned quite pale, so Severus tightened his arm, and nosed into his hair.

“A letter received does not have to be a letter read,” he murmured, and Harry nodded, and turned his head for a kiss, which Severus gave to him. And that, Hermione seemed rather to like. She smiled, anyway, and to Severus’ eye it looked wistful. Ron appeared blissfully oblivious to this, however, as he was busy gesticulating enthusiastically about the ‘owl cyclone.’ Severus supposed he was still figuring the whole _boyfriend_ thing out. 

“But why so _many?”_ Harry asked, sounding appalled. 

“Because you’re a hero, mate,” Ron answered. “Of course people want to write to you. Whole bloody country does.”

“But…” Harry leaned a little more heavily against Severus’ side. “What about Severus? He’s a hero, too, isn’t he? Anything for him?”

“It’s… um… hard to tell,” Hermione answered, sharing an uncomfortable glance with Ron. “Some owls seemed like they gave up. But not nearly as many as were looking for you, anyway.” 

“Hm,” Severus said, wondering what that glance meant, and making a mental note to locate a newspaper. Preferably when Harry was sleeping, or otherwise distracted. “Well, I suppose it’s only been days. There will be time for many changes in public opinion. For example, I do believe Ron Weasley told me to go fuck myself at least once, and now here we all together.”

Ron laughed. “Forgiveness all around!” he said. “Even king rabble-rouser Neville Longbottom seems like he forgives you, and you were a right fucking tosspot to him for _seven years!”_ Harry gasped, and Hermione smacked Ron on the arm. “What? He was! Let alone the Deatheater Headmaster thing.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The torture and stuff.”

“Brave boy, Longbottom,” Severus said gravely. “Cast jelly-legs on me fourteen times.” 

“Fourteen!” Ron hooted. “Lucky you’re not really evil!”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Ron said. “You not being evil. Do you remember Harry’s first Quidditch match? Your robes caught on fire. Ever wonder how that happened?” 

“RON!” Hermione squealed and tried to cover his mouth, but Ron evaded her.

“It was _Hermione!”_ he guffawed, pinning her arms down. “She thought you were trying to kill Harry and _lit you on fire._ Ever apologize for that one, Hermione? Eh? Talk about a change of heart! Mad _arsonist.”_

“Do you mean when I was trying to keep Professor _Parasitic Infection_ from spilling Harry to his death?” Severus asked evenly while Hermione turned a blotchy sort of red. 

“I’m really sorry!” she squeaked. “Professor Quirrell was just so pathetic! I thought it had to be you!” 

Severus laughed. “I do believe that is a compliment,” he said, and then looked appraisingly between the two of them. “Is there a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor that you three _haven’t_ assaulted? Or are you the curse?”

Ron pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “Hm…” he mused. “I don’t think we ever did anything to the real Moody… but… he was never really a Professor, was he?”

“And Lockhart?”

“Kicked him right in the shins, mate. He erased his own memory, though.”

“And I _crucioed_ Amycus. How very neat.”

It was all rather enjoyable, really. Sitting there in the shade with Harry nestled up against him, listening to his friends tell tales. Surprisingly enjoyable, almost like they weren’t a ragtag collection of veterans sitting on a war-torn landscape. Almost like the sort of summer afternoon Severus had dreamt of when he was their age. Out by the lake, with friendly faces. 

It was quite a lark. 

Right up until Harry asked about Draco Malfoy, anyway.

“What do you mean he’s _gone?”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a job sucks. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments I read ALL OF THEM


	11. The Most Feared Wizard

Draco was not in the library where Neville, Professor Flitwick and Madam Pince all tried to hail them. He was not on the fifth floor, where Ron’s brothers were busy with a large and recalcitrant hole in the floor, but waved and called out. He was not in the Great Hall, or the courtyard, and he was not in the Dungeons. He was not in the Slytherin Dormitory, nor was there any sign of him there, save for a single black robe that had been shucked onto one of the beds.

“Draco?” Harry called into the silence. “DRACO? Mrs. Malfoy? HELLO?” Severus put one hand on his shoulder and Harry turned to look at him, his eyes wide and fearful. “They’re not here,” he said. “Where could they have gone? Home?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Severus answered. “The Manor was the Dark Lord’s headquarters. It’ll be swarming with Aurors. A bad place for anyone with a Mark to be just now.”

“We thought maybe he was… resting,” Hermione said nervously from the doorway.

“Or that he ran,” Ron added.

“Why would he run?” Harry asked Severus. “He would have said something, wouldn’t he?” He looked at Ron and Hermione. “He wouldn't just… leave. No way.”

“There are still loads of places to check,” Ron said uncomfortably. “I don’t think we need to panic, Harry. He’s Malfoy. He can handle himself.”

“Maybe we can ask McGonagall?” Hermione offered. “She’s been organizing everyone. Maybe she knows?” She took Ron’s hand. “She’s in the Hospital Wing, I think. She and Professor Slughorn were going to start cataloguing the damage to the instruments and the potions stores. That’s what she said at breakfast, anyway.”

Harry met Severus’ eyes, and without another word, took off into the hall. 

Draco was not helping in the Infirmary, but McGonagall and Slughorn were there just the way Hermione said they would be, along with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout. They were clustered together reviewing a long list of some kind, and all four of them looked up in alarm as Harry burst inside, nearly slipping in some of the rubbish still littering the ground.

“Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed. “What’s ha-”

“Where’s Draco?” he demanded, cutting her off. “Have you seen him?”

“Draco?” Professor Sprout asked, and then leapt back as Severus skidded to a halt beside Harry, catching himself on a bunk. “Oh! Severus. Merlin. You startled me.” 

“Good day,” he said, holding an arm out to catch Ron before he fell on his face. “We’re looking for Mr. Malfoy.” 

“He - hasn’t - been seen since yesterday,” Hermione panted, bringing up the rear. “Neville - said.”

“Oh,” Minerva began, standing up a little straighter. “Well, I met with him yesterday afternoon, and when he left he was rather… upset. He asked for discretion, and I assumed he needed privacy. He’s not in his dormitory?”

“No, he’s not,” Harry said shortly. “Anyone else? Who saw him last?” He scanned the others - Madam Pomfrey looking concerned, and Professor Sprout shaking her head _no -_ but then his his eye caught on Slughorn. He was shifting from foot to foot, and Harry squinted in suspicion, but Severus had seen it too, and he spoke before Harry could so much as open his mouth.

“Horace,” he said, and that was all, but Slughorn still flushed as if it had been a dire accusation instead of just his name. Minerva frowned at him.

“Horace?” she asked, and he looked at her instead, his gaze plaintive like he would prefer not to make eye contact with Severus Snape ever again in his life if he could avoid it. “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Slughorn began, straightening his jacket in a feeble attempt at importance. “I mean… they had proper documentation. Proper authorization. Who am I to obstruct the correct operation of-” Severus seized his lapels. 

“Who is _‘they?’”_ he demanded. 

“Severus!” Poppy gasped. “What are you-”

Severus ignored her, and gave Horace a shake. “WHO. IS. THEY. HORACE?”

“L-law enforcement,” Slughorn sputtered, pulled up onto the balls of his feet. “To question his mother! He resisted arrest! What was I meant to do? Get arrested myself?”

“You fucking _coward,”_ Severus growled. “Just thought you’d keep it to yourself, did you?”

“They had a warrant, man!” Slughorn managed, and then gasped as Severus pinned him to the wall. “Severus, please! They had a warrant!”

“You are an _embarrassment_ to Slytherin House,” Severus sneered. “After everything that boy went through? You just let them _take him?”_

“But - _you were the one who - you - you-”_

“I was the one who _WHAT?”_

“Severus, let him go!” Minerva demanded as Professor Sprout and Poppy clutched each other in shock. “This is not done!”

“Go ahead and _say it,_ Horace,” Severus growled. “Since you think you know so m-” A warm hand rested on his arm and he broke off, turning his head to see that Harry looked quite as murderous as Severus felt. “Oh,” he said. “Well, be my guest.” He released his grip on Slughorn’s coat and moved aside, giving Harry room to shout in Horace’s face, if that was what he wanted to do. A savage dressing-down by the Boy Who Lived would certainly be deserved.

But Harry did not shout in Horace’s face. 

Harry very unceremoniously punched it.

Which he also deserved.

“Oi! Harry!” Ron gasped. 

“Potter, no-” Minerva started.

“Draco _fought with us!”_ Harry spat as blood began to issue from Slughorn’ nose, soaking thick and fast into his sizable mustache. “I don’t give a FUCK what they said, or what they think they have on either of them, or what _documentation_ they showed you. Draco and his mum _fought with us_ against their _own family_ and you just handed them to the Ministry? Disgusting!” He shoved Horace in the chest. “That place is a _nest of vipers_ and always has been! You should be _ashamed.”_ He turned to Severus and grabbed his arm. “C’mon,” he said, and turned on the spot. 

_Crack!_

“SHIT!” Ron yelped as McGonagall, Sprout, Poppy and Hermione all jumped back. “He _apparated!”_

“But - he can’t do that!” Hermione said over Horace’s moans of pain. “You can’t apparate inside the grounds. It’s impossible!” 

For a moment, no one spoke. But then Ron laughed. 

“Who can’t? Harry Potter? You should tell him when he apparates back.” He walked over to Slughorn and pointed his wand into his face. “You’re lucky you didn’t get worse, you pathetic bastard. Harry _hates_ the Ministry. Stand up straight.” Slughorn put his hands up like he thought he was about to be executed and squeezed his eyes shut. _“Episkey!”_ Ron said, and his nose realigned itself. “Merlin, you are a coward. Hold still. _Tergeo.”_ He siphoned the blood out of his moustache, and then turned towards McGonagall. “I’d let Kingsley know the Ministry is about to be exploded, though. Because… it is.”

***

Severus staggered and whirled around to see that they were standing in a very splendid, very empty hall. There were gilded fireplaces sunk into the walls all around them, and there was a massive black statue hulking in the center of the highly-polished wood floor, emblazoned with the words, _‘Magic Is Might.’_

He blinked.

“Did you just-”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, and without further explanation, marched over to the security desk, where a tired-looking Wizard in peacock-blue robes was sitting with his nose in a copy of the Daily Prophet. “EXCUSE ME,” he said loudly, and the man looked up, screamed, and pitched backwards out of his chair.

“Did he faint?” Severus asked, catching up to him. “Was I right? Oh, look.” He picked up the man’s discarded paper, took one look at the cover, and slapped it back onto the desk face down. “Nevermind.” 

But there was no need to hide the mortifying image, as Harry was much too busy hollering at the guard to notice anything as petty as a newspaper. Even if he was on the cover. Being… molested.

“OI! I’m here for the Malfoys,” Harry was bellowing, leaning over the edge of the desk as the guard scrambled back to his feet. “Where are they? And DON’T say _Azkaban.”_

“The M-malfoys?” the Wizard stuttered, and then his eyes twitched to Severus and he turned parchment white. “Fuck,” he whispered, and slapped his hand down onto a shiny black square on his desk. 

An alarm went off. 

“Oh GREAT,” Harry scoffed, and leapt over the barrier. “C’mon, Severus. These _idiots.”_

“Excuse me, um - Mr. P-potter…” the guard stuttered, looking terrified and highly flustered. “Um. Sir? You can’t - can’t do that -”

“Just _stay,”_ Severus hissed at him as he snatched the paper, shrank it, and vaulted the gate after Harry, who was already hitting the lift call button. “You’ve nettled Ministry Security,” he said as the lift jangled to a halt and the doors slid open.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry answered, and just as they stepped inside, a cluster of blue-clad Wizards appeared behind them, shouting and waving and getting in each other's way. But Harry did not seem disturbed, and Severus watched him give them two fingers through the wrought golden grill with a fresh rush of intense adoration. 

“Good lord, Harry,” he muttered as the doors closed. “Care for a shag in the lift?”

Harry spared him a half-smile as he pressed the button for level two, and they began to ascend with a great clatter. “Ever been in the Auror offices?” he asked. “I think they have interrogation rooms in there.”

“I have, and they do, though the holding cells are in the sub-basement,” Severus answered. “Are we… just going to take him?” He pulled out his wand. “Because if we are, I may get detained.”

Harry laughed unkindly. “I’d like to see them try. If they know fucking anything at all they’ll just hand him over.” He tapped his foot, watching the floor indicator. “I hope he’s alright.”

“It’s only been one night,” Severus answered, glancing down at the agitated movement and wondering if he was about to witness another of Harry’s vaunted magical outbursts. Pity there hadn’t been time to work on that _before_ breaking into the Auror Headquarters. That would have been helpful. Nothing for it now, though. He just hoped the Aurors folded quickly, and had treated Draco civilly. “I’m sure he’s frightened, but unhurt.”

“Yeah. Well. He better be.” Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He better be.”

“Level four,” a woman’s voice said from above with a little chime. “Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pet Advisory Bureau.” The lift jolted to a halt, and the doors opened to reveal a pair of Witches in conversation.

“I’m just _exhausted,”_ one of them said. “What time is it? Seven? These extra hours are absolutely _murder.”_ She sighed heavily and made to step into the lift, but her companion grabbed her by the sleeve before she could move. 

“Griselda,” she squeaked, and Griselda looked up too, and shrieked.

“Hi,” Harry said. “Lift’s full.” He pressed the close button, and with a rattle and clank, the Witches slid out of sight. Severus stood very still as they continued to ascend, suddenly recalling with vivid and visceral intensity the way Harry had looked at the Dark Lord’s murderous sneer and said, _‘ooh, hi.’_

It was almost a flashback.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’ll fuck you in the lift.”

“Jeez, focus,” Harry laughed. “I’m breaking laws, here.”

“Yes you are.” The lift clattered again, thankfully passing level three without incident. “I suppose you were due for your yearly Ministry infiltration.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t _infiltrate_ the Ministry every…” He trailed off. “Hm.”

“Three in a row, love.” 

The chime sounded again. “Level two,” said the voice. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

“Ok. Ready to cause a ruckus?” Harry asked as the lift juttered to a halt. 

“With you?” Severus asked. “Always.”

The doors slid open to reveal a forest of wands. 

***

Minerva threw a handful of powder into her fireplace. “Minister’s office!” she cried, and stuck her head through. “KINGSLEY! KINGSLEY?”

A woman with an armful of scrolls appeared. “Minster Shacklebolt has gone home,” she said, looking startled. “May I take a message?”

“FUCK!”

“Madame, my goodness! This is the Minister’s office, not a _brothel!”_

“Just CALL HIM.” 

***

“Oh, what? Gonna curse me?” Harry asked, stepping out into the hall with Severus just behind him. “Great PR for the Auror department, there. Useless the whole war, and then kicking off reconstruction by assaulting the Chosen One. Excellent decision. Very good for funding.” The Aurors glanced at each other, visibly disarmed, and Severus stood back and watched as Harry walked right up to the man with the most ribbons on his coat and poked him in the chest with one finger. “Can you _back the fuck up?”_

 _Should have had him on the picnic blanket,_ Severus thought.

“Mr. Potter,” the man said, a little indignantly. “This is very irregular. Security called up that there was…” his eyes flicked over to Severus and then back to Harry. “... An intruder.” 

Harry didn’t answer right away. He just raised his eyebrows in an expression that might have been stolen right off of Severus’ own face, and the man with the ribbons took a step back. Everyone took a step back, in fact, and seeing it, Severus was not only fiercely regretting missing the opportunity to have Harry on his back that afternoon, but was, in fact, not fully confident that he would ever recover. For the display of incredible arrogance he was witnessing now was giving weight and depth to Harry’s story of going into the clearing in a very compelling way. This, surely, was how he’d strode into the Dark Lord’s inner circle, whipped off his cloak, and announced that he would not bow.

Harry said he’d been afraid, then. And maybe he was afraid, now. But fear or no fear, this was… striking. 

Severus’ palms tingled.

“Yeah, well,” Harry answered with a sneer. “You know what’s really irregular? That you people think you can waltz right into Hogwarts and _arrest_ my _allies_ without knowing a goddamn thing. Now. I’m here for the Malfoys. Where are they?”

The Aurors looked at each other in dismay. 

“The Malfoys?” the man asked. “We’ve only taken them in for… an interview.” He hesitated. “You are aware that Draco Malfoy is a known Deatheather?”

Harry scoffed extravagantly, and shot withering glances at the Aurors on either side of his primary target before refocusing on him. “What’s your name?” he asked. “I don’t think we’ve met.” 

“Oh. Eriksson. Grant Eriksson.” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “I’m the head of Auror Personnel and it’s - it’s my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter.” He offered his hand, and Harry shook it like it was wet.

“I’m sure it is, _Grant,”_ he said. “Now, let me ask you this. _Why_ haven’t I met you? I know every Auror that fought in the war, and most of them are dead, aren’t they? So. What’s the deal with you, Mr. Head of Auror Personnel? Not dead, not Minister of Magic, not at Hogwarts when it mattered. Care to explain yourself?”

“Well… er…” He shifted uncomfortably, and Harry put him out of his misery. 

“I’m kind of in a hurry, so let me guess,” he began. “Were you under the _Imperius_ _curse_ the whole time?”

The man’s eyes, grey like a stormy sea, flicked over to his fellows. “Yes, I was,” he said. “For over a year. It lifted the night-”

“Severus Snape killed the Dark Lord? Yeah, I know,” Harry cut in. “That’s him, obviously.” Severus inclined his head, absolutely melting inside, and Harry pointed to a woman with close-cropped hair to Grant’s left. “How about you? Name?”

“Oh,” she said. “Edmunson. Frieda… Frieda Edmunson. It’s an honor, Mr. Potter.” Harry shook her hand, too, and Severus wondered if he was intentionally calling attention to the fact that he did not have, nor need, a wand. And then he wondered if Harry still wanted to be an Auror. 

It seemed like he didn’t. 

“Likewise,” Harry said. “So, Frieda… _Imperius curse?”_ She nodded mutely. “I thought so. You can thank Severus for releasing you later.” He turned his attention back on Grant. “For now, where is Draco, you useless Ministry puppets? I’m taking him. His mother, too. They’ll give a statement, but they are not staying in this hell-hole another night.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” Grant spluttered. “But I’m afraid I can’t allow that. We have them both for use of Unforgivables with strong supporting evidence.” His eyes jumped to Severus, and then over to a pair of Wizards flanking the lift doors, and Severus looked at them, too, his wand-hand flexing by his side. “But if you’d like to testify for them I’m sure we can ar-”

“Ok,” Harry cut in. “I don’t think we’re communicating.” He waved a hand, and the two Aurors on Severus’ either sides were abruptly knocked back into their fellows. “And if you so much as twitch in his direction I will tear this building in half. Now. Listen carefully. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy are my allies. Severus Snape is my ally. We won the war _together_ while you pricks were busy licking Voldemort’s boots, and if you fuck with me, you will regret it.” 

There was a stunned silence. And then there was a little pinging noise, and two more lifts arrived, disgorging full loads of security. 

“Halt!” one of the blue-clad Wizards said, tripping over his robes in his haste, and with hardly a gesture from Harry, a wall of crackling light burst into life between the lifts and the hallway. It effectively held the fresh arrivals in place, and as Severus turned his head to watch them scramble, the Aurors raised their wands in unison. Almost like they thought _Severus_ was the real threat.

What a terrible miscalculation.

He almost laughed.

“Mr. Potter,” Grant said again. “This is highly illegal. Being a war-hero doesn’t give you the authority to remove prisoners. We have an eyewitness account of Narcissa Malfoy performing the _Avada,_ and her son has a Dark Mark. And you,” he pointed his wand at Severus’ chest. “Are under arrest for the murders of Albus Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour.” Severus raised his hands, his lip curling up in disdain. These people obviously had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Oh, what fun,” he said. “Harry’s burning the floor.” Grant and the other Aurors looked down to see that Harry’s worn trainers were, in fact, smoking ominously against the lacquered wood, and they stepped back again. “Don’t explode, love,” Severus continued. “Take a deep breath. I’m not going to prison.”

“I know you’re not,” Harry snarled, and flicked his fingers upwards, disarming every single Auror at once and sending their wands straight into the ceiling like a volley of darts. Then he turned his palms down and sank everyone but Grant into the floor to the waist. “And didn’t I say not to fuck with me?”

“Holy Hell,” Grant said in a small voice, staring around at his underlings sticking out of the tiles like bizarre shrubbery, and the Security Wizards burst into panicked movement behind Harry’s barrier. They seemed to be trying to disable it, and Severus gave them an obnoxious little wave. 

“Good luck,” he said. “The Dark Lord himself couldn’t break through that. And he tried. Tried quite hard, in fact. Particularly at the end.” He turned his wand on Grant. “The Malfoys, if you please, Mr. Eriksson.” He touched Harry’s back lightly. “And we’ll get out of your hair. No need to cause any more trouble by being obstreperous.” 

No need to provoke Harry any further, was what he meant, of course. Rage-scorching the ground was new, and rather worse than breaking a few plates. And there really was no need to reduce the Ministry of Magic to a crater. Not yet, anyway. 

Pity Harry’s trigger point didn’t work on fury. 

“Oh,” Grant said over the fizzing and crackling noises of Security’s meager attempts to cut a hole in Harry’s magic. “Is that the Elder Wand?” He raised his hands. 

“This?” Severus asked. “No, this is my wand. I believe the Elder Wand is under my bed at the moment. Go.”

“Er… right. Of course. Um… interrogation is this way.” He turned on his heel, his back ramrod straight, and Severus glanced over his shoulder at the shocked and disabled Aurors, and gave them a little bow. 

“Stooges,” he said, and followed in Harry’s wake. 

***

Draco rested his head on his manacled arms. He was absolutely exhausted. He hadn’t slept a single minute - it was impossible to sleep around Dementors - and when his minders had finally returned that morning to collect him, he’d been so grateful for the reprieve that he felt he would have told them anything. Absolutely anything. Which, of course, was the point. But he was already telling the truth, no matter what they thought, so he gathered his dignity as best he could, raked his hands through his hair, and submitted to being taken back upstairs and reattached to the table in his interrogation room. And he told them all the same things again, and asked all the same questions. But that time, they did actually answer one of them, even if he didn’t like the answer.

_‘Where is my mother?’_

_‘She’s still in holding.’_

_‘What, with the Dementors? I can’t believe you’re still using Dementors, by the way. Pretty disgusting, if you ask me.’_

_‘I did not ask you, Mr. Malfoy. And the remaining Dementors are perfectly docile. There’s nothing quite like a cull to bring a dark creature like that to heel, wouldn’t you say? A few examples made, and the rest of the population falls to their knees.’_

Draco did not break the pregnant pause that followed that comment. He just stared right back at the man - a burly brunette that time - daring him to imply that Deatheaters were dark creatures again. But he didn’t. Instead, he produced a glass ball of the kind that had sat on the table during Draco’s first interrogation, and set it in front of him. And in that glass ball, Draco watched Peter Pettigrew, cringing and simpering #42461, giving a very notable testimony.

_‘Narcissa Malfoy murdered her own husband, I saw it, I was there! It was in cold blood! She didn’t even blink - please - just - listen. They’re Deatheaters! Loyal! I swear - Lucius fell from favor - she hated him for it -’_

Fucking Wormtail. 

_Wormtail._

Draco should have killed that filthy bastard when he had the chance. Every other person that had seen his father die was gone. One _single living witness_ and it was Peter bloody Pettigrew? Who literally _turned into a rat?_

He’d been shocked quite silent once the recording ended, frozen by the sudden intensity of his hatred, but the Auror didn’t speak. He just smirked at him and produced a second sphere, which Draco quickly realized contained Wormtail's actual memory of the event. Of Draco’s mother pointing a wand between his father’s eyes, her hand steady as a statue - steady as a soldier - steady as an executioner - her expression smooth and blank. And his father, blood-spattered and desperate on the leaf-strewn ground, pathetic, filthy, and begging.

_“Cissy - please-”_

And then the green flash, and his father going limp with his face in the dirt. 

Staring into the empty glass as the image faded, it had taken Draco a moment to locate his pride. The Auror had not prompted him that time, either. He’d just stood there watching him with his arms crossed, apparently waiting to see his reaction. So, finally, when Draco had concentrated his scorn to his liking, he gave the Auror his coldest stare and said: _‘I told you my father was a Deatheater, didn’t I? Why are you so upset that he’s dead?’_

The man hadn’t liked that at all, and had stalked out and left Draco alone for a long time, chained to the table in the heavy quiet, absolutely sure he was being watched. So he just sat there, trying to seem like he wasn’t hearing his father’s cracked voice saying, _‘Cissy - please-’_ over and over on a very upsetting loop. 

_‘Cissy - please-’_

_‘Cissy - please-’_

His father never called her ‘Cissy.’ Or, at least, Draco had never heard him call her that. Maybe that was something Lucius had called her before. Before everything. 

If there had even _been_ a before. 

He blinked into the dark cave made by his arms, abruptly realizing how much he didn’t know about his own parents. Had they been in love? Ever? He had no idea. Did his mother regret killing her husband? Was she sitting in holding, swamped with the frigid aura of Dementors, hearing her husband’s voice, begging for reprieve? Were the Dementors feeding off of the despair of that memory the way they’d fed off of a buffet of his own most awful moments? 

Or was she glad he was gone?

Was _he_ glad his father was gone?

Was he happy that his father had died with his face in the dirt, begging for mercy?

Was he?

_‘Cissy - please -’_

He fisted his left hand and tapped it against the table, trying to control the urge to throw a fit. If he lost his temper he’d just get himself into more trouble. It would make him seem guilty, and he wasn’t guilty. He was not a Deatheater, and neither was his mother, and there was no way she would be sentenced to life for what she’d done. It was self defense, surely they could see that. The Dark Lord had forced her. He’d hit her, and demanded Lucius’ life in exchange for her own. And how could the Ministry hold the line on their policy that a single Unforgivable merited a life-sentence, now, anyway? It was war. Everyone had been bandying killing curses and _Crucioes_ during the final battle. What were they going to do, arrest _everyone?_ Lupin, and the Weasleys, and Dumbledore’s mad brother, and everyone else? The new Minister had probably _Avada’d_ someone. Were they going to arrest _him?_

Or maybe they were just… arresting everyone with a Mark. Everyone from a _legacy family,_ no matter who they’d fought for. 

He shook his head against the cold metal of the table. No need to think of that, now. He just had to stay calm, and hope that his mother didn’t get sentenced before someone could-

_Fssss_

Draco frowned and lifted his head at the soft sound. And then he sat up straight.

The door handle was… glowing.

***

“Call that an _interview,_ do you?” Harry demanded, pointing at the little barred window. “I’ve done tons of interviews and no one ever MANACLED ME TO THE TABLE. Open the door. Now. NOW.” 

“But - Mr. Potter,” Grant began imploringly, yelping when Severus prodded him in the back with his wand. “He’s wanted for-” 

“I’d suggest closing your mouth and doing as he says, Mr. Eriksson,” Severus muttered, eyeing the heat-shimmer flickering into life around Harry’s hands. “You’re making it worse for yourself.” _And the building._

“This is-” Grant tried again, and Harry took hold of the handle. Under his touch, the metal began to smoulder and hiss. “What are you - ? You can’t just-” 

“If you’d just listen to me and open the fucking door I wouldn’t have to,” Harry sneered, and the locking mechanism melted clean through. “He deserves a medal not _chains._ Fucking useless Military Police _bullshit.”_ He hurled the doorknob to the floor, where it bounced once and then rolled away with a sinister sizzle. Grant gaped at it. Apparently he did not expect Harry to be able to do that.

“Mr. Potter, please!” he gasped. “This is an imprisonable offense! You could ruin your-”

“Reputation?” Harry interrupted, and shouldered open the door. “Sad.”

“Harry!” Draco cried, leaping to his feet only to be jerked back down into his chair by his shackles, slamming his elbows against the edge of the table. “Ow, _fuck.”_

“Hold out your hands,” Harry commanded, sparing a disgusted look for the Auror. “I’m getting you out of here right now.” 

“Thank Merlin,” Draco said, and put his arms out flat on the table. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t leave us here.” 

“Sorry it took so long.” Harry vaporized the manacles and then took hold of Draco’s wrists, turning them soft-side up like he was looking for marks. “We didn’t know you were gone.” He turned his hands the other way, and then, seemingly satisfied, let go. “No one told us. Are you hurt anywhere?” Draco just stood up and threw his arms around him. 

“Thank you,” he choked out. 

“Oh. Uh… no problem,” Harry answered stiffly, and patted his back. “You can save me when I get arrested for doing this. Then we’ll be even again, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Draco laughed weakly, suddenly and excruciatingly aware that he was about to burst into tears. But then, just before he could dissolve into Harry’s shoulder, Severus said his name from the door, and he looked up to see that he had the Head Auror at wand-point. Which he somehow had not expected. “Oh, Professor Snape,” he said, and released Harry at once. “Sorry.”

The corners of Severus' mouth twitched. “No harm done,” he said. “Where’s your mother?” 

“I don’t know,” Draco answered. “They said she was in holding, but it might have been a lie. They separated us before we even left the school.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get her,” Harry said. “But before I do, how did they treat you?” 

“Um… the Aurors?” Draco asked, and glanced at Eriksson, who looked terrified, and then at Severus behind him. “It was… fine. Just. Uh. Interrogation techniques. Sleep deprivation… intimidation… that sort of thing.”

“Did they hurt you?” Harry asked again. “Torture? Dementors?”

“No, I’m alright. But… there were Dementors. Outside my cell.” A wisp of smoke drifted up from the floor, and he glanced down, and continued quickly. “Just two, though. No need to do… that thing you’re doing. With your feet. Or anything. I’m… fine.” 

Harry glared at the Auror. “You still use _Dementors?_ I thought Kingsley was in charge. Did he authorize that?”

“Uh…” Eriksson began, shifting on his feet like he wanted to back up, but didn’t want to back up into Severus Snape’s wand. “The Minister… has been very… busy. He hasn’t been that involved in… law enforcement.”

 _“Law enforcement,”_ Harry spat, and then seized the front of Draco’s jumpsuit. “Stay where I put you, Draco,” he said.

“What?” Draco asked, looked to Severus, and then shrieked as Harry threw him backwards towards the wall. 

But he didn’t hit the wall. 

He hit the floor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and tumbled into a sofa. 

“What the _fuck?”_ he gasped, leaping to his feet, but then remembered Harry said _stay_ , and sat back down on the ground and put his hands in his lap. “...Ok.”

“What in Merlin’s name?” Grant yelped. “This room is heavily warded! What the fuck did you do with my prisoner?” 

Harry rounded on him. “Your WHAT?” he demanded, and the little barred window in the door exploded, showering Grant with broken glass and flecks of wrought iron. He turned white.

“I, uh - he’s got a Dark Mark,” he said stupidly. “We have an e-eye witness account of his mother committing murder. Her own husband. Veritaserum confirmed. And, uh- _C-cruciatus_ and _Avada_ echoes on his w-wand-”

“SHUT,” Harry said, and Grant’s mouth snapped closed. “Narcissa. Now. And their wands. _GRANT.”_

Severus pushed the head Auror out the door, the glass crunching under his boots, and looked at Harry beside him. “I am so in love with you I think I might die of it,” he said. “And I am going to turn you inside out when I get you alone. But let's try not to level the building now that he’s quiet, alright?”

“Pff,” Harry scoffed, as Grant squeaked in fear. “I’m calm.” 

Severus spared a glance back at the blackened footprints on the floor behind them. “Yes… I can see that.”

  
  
  



	12. Copper and Salt

It took about fifteen minutes for Narcissa to appear beside Draco in Number Twelve, though she, at least, landed on her feet. 

“Mother!” Draco gasped, leaping up to embrace her. “Are you alright? What did they do to you? Merlin. Are you hurt?”

“Draco, darling,” Narcissa was saying at the same moment. “What were you thinking? Salazar, you could have been killed! Getting in their way like that?” She squeezed him tight, and he buried his face in her hair, and then they were both apologizing, and kept apologizing, until a little snapping sound pulled their attention away from each other, and they looked down. Two wands were rolling across the carpet like they’d been tossed. 

“Wow,” Draco said slowly, and Narcissa released him. 

“That boy is certifiably insane,” she agreed, stooping down to pick them up. “Melted the door clean off. We should get him a gift.” She handed one of the wands to Draco, and then looked around. “Where are we? Do you know? It’s so dreary.” She moved to explore, but Draco caught her sleeve.

“Mum, no! Harry told us to stay!” 

“I assume he meant _in the house,_ darling,” Narcissa answered, raising an immaculate blonde eyebrow at him. Even in her hideous jumpsuit, emblazoned with the number 42486, she looked quite elegant. Like she was wearing a piquant costume at a Halloween ball, instead of an actual inmate uniform. “Not on a single carpet square.” 

“Oh. Right,” Draco said, and let her go. “Of course.” 

He glanced down at himself. He did not feel particularly elegant at all. Somehow his mother always made him feel like he needed to comb his hair no matter how perfect he looked, and right then he did not look perfect. 

“Oh, wait a moment,” Narcissa continued. “I’d recognize that awful brocade sofa anywhere. This is my Aunt Walburga’s house.”

Draco looked up, startled. “What, you mean Walburga Black? Isn’t that the _Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?”_

“Oh, I think the Order’s been disbanded, actually. I did hear Mr. Potter inherited the house, though.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder if the wine cellar is still stocked.”

***

By the time Kingsley’s assistant reached him - he’d been in the bath after a grueling 32 hours at his desk and had not wanted to answer his floo - Severus and Harry were gone, and he arrived at the Ministry to find a mound of ashes in the center of the Atrium, and a flurry of very upset Security personnel attempting to free seventeen Aurors from the floor of level two.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” he asked, trying very hard not to laugh. He didn't think anyone would appreciate it. “Have you offended Harry Potter?” The Aurors burst into complaints. “Alright, alright, calm down. Where’s Eriksson?”

Eriksson was locked in a holding cell, stark naked.

***

Severus staggered again when he reappeared in his living room with Harry by his side. Whatever Harry was doing was not regular side-along apparition. It felt a little more like being portkeyed unexpectedly, actually, and it took him a moment to orient himself enough to realize that his quarters were empty. 

“Where’s Draco?” he asked. “I thought you-”

“KREACHER!” Harry barked.

_Crack!_

“Master Potter,” Kreacher croaked, bowing low. “How may Kreacher serve?”

“Go to Number Twelve and take care of the Malfoys,” Harry said. “And tell them not to leave.”

Kreacher looked up, but he did not betray any surprise. He just said, “yes, Master Potter,” and vanished again.

“Number Twelve?” Severus asked. “Very astute. The wards should still be-” Harry grabbed the front of his shirt, his eyes blazing. 

“Turn me inside out,” he demanded, and jerked him forward. His kiss was fierce, and full of teeth, and Severus returned it in kind and knocked him back against the wall.

“You little _lunatic,”_ he hissed, pinning him with a forearm across his collarbones. “I can’t have you _now._ You know someone will come for us. We have to wait.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Harry snarled. “You promised, and I want it right now. Hurt me. Put me on my knees. Anything. Just - now. Now.” He sprayed colored sparks out of his fingers, igniting an answering burst of lust and devotion in Severus’ belly. Sudden, and explosive, like a firework.

“Why?” he asked, though he already knew why. “Have you frightened yourself crushing all those Aurors? Disintegrating that monstrosity in the Atrium? Hm?” He gave Harry a little more pressure with his arm, and Harry swallowed. “You think no one can contain you, is that it? You of the uncontrollable will?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered breathlessly, his eyes wild with excitement and terror. All the fear he’d suppressed under his outrageous hubris - fear for Draco, and for Severus, and at the very act of bursting so flagrantly into the headquarters of the most formidable law-enforcement corps in all of Britain, reducing their most decorated agents to tears, and _stealing their inmates._ Here it all was, bubbling to the surface. And here was his Wizard Prince, begging to be stripped back down by the only person that could.

What a treat. 

He took hold of Harry’s jaw. 

“Tell me.”

“No one stopped me,” Harry answered. “No one could stop me. All those people. And I - apparated from inside the grounds. I just - fucking - _threw_ Draco. I threw him. How did I do that?” He swallowed. “C’mon. Sir. Please.” 

_Sir._

_Shred him._

Severus used his grip to turn Harry’s face away, and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek, thinking of all the opportunities he’d missed to see Harry flattening his opposition. Oh, what trouble they could have gotten up to during the war if they hadn’t been so cruelly separated. He could have razed Malfoy Manor to the ground, and fucked Harry in the ashes. He could have appeared in Harry’s safe house and choked him into bliss, railed him against the bathroom wall and then slept beside him. He could have watched Harry burst a hole in Gringotts all the way to the bottom levels, and had him on the gold. Lord knew he would have wanted to, if his feelings in the Ministry were anything to go by. He could have followed his precious Potter all over the country, watching him wreak havoc and then putting him back together afterwards, turning him black and blue - pliant, and sweet, and shaking - and secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t in charge. Not really, anyway. 

Well, he was making up for lost time, now, wasn’t he?

“Shall I put you back in your proper place?” he asked softly, and Harry exhaled and relaxed into his hands, knowing he was going to get what he wanted. “Helpless at my feet, where you belong?” 

“Yes,” Harry answered, and Severus pulled away just enough to see that his eyes were closed, his eyelashes a dark sweep across the flush gathering in his cheeks. 

“Yes, what?” Severus prompted, and Harry opened his eyes. 

“Yes, sir,” he began, and a little sparkle of mischief appeared. “If you can.”

 _“‘If I can?’”_ Severus asked with a light chuckle, took Harry’s glasses, and stroked his cheek. He knew how to translate that, of course. If Harry wanted to be crushed into submission, Severus would crush him into submission. “I see. How lucky for you that my worship is so specific. Now, show me your colors again if you want to play so hard, my arrogant little terrorist.” Harry obeyed immediately, a fresh chaos of sparks issuing from his hands: green, gold, red, and purple, mixed together in a mad cacophony. “Very good,” Severus answered, his touch light and soft. “I want you to be perfectly silent for me. Will you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry repeated, and Severus slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to knock him aside, and hard enough to make slamming him back against the wall a meaningful gesture. A shocking, painful one, anyway. 

“Do you understand the concept of silence, Potter?” he hissed, and Harry gasped and pressed his lips together. He hadn’t heard that particular tone in a while, of course, and Severus dug his knuckles into his chest, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Color, love? Think before you answer.” Harry pressed himself back into the wall, already breathing hard, and then sent a spray of green out of his fingers and towards the floor. “Better.” Severus held him still with his fist while he withdrew his wand and touched it to his forehead, right between his eyes. “You want helpless?” he asked again, and Harry nodded. “Do you trust me?” Harry nodded again. “I know you do. Show me how to make me stop.” Red sparkled out in a cloud at their feet. “Lovely. _Tenebrus Oculi.”_

The curse was painless - almost without sensation, really - and Harry blinked, and then blinked again as his eyes clouded over and turned an opaque, glossy black. And then he blinked harder, and shook his head, and went rigid like he was going to try to run. 

“What did you-” 

Severus slapped him again, snapping his head to the side, and then turned his face back to center and took hold of his throat. His pulse was absolutely racing. Severus could feel it against his fingers like a startled bird.

“I blinded you,” he said. “What color is that?” Harry, his sightless eyes wide, didn’t move or respond at all, and Severus tightened his fingers. “Color, Potter,” he demanded again, and when Harry finally raised one unsteady hand and produced green, jerked him down onto his knees. Harry squeaked in surprise and then clapped a hand over his own mouth, his eyes upturned and moving restlessly around what Severus knew full well was an environment of absolute blackness. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stay quiet, that was clear. But it was also the point, so Severus held him to the wall by his hair and took his hand away from his mouth. “If you fail, you fail, love,” he said. “No hands. _Infixus.”_ He stuck one hand to the wall over his head, and then the other. “Color, please.” 

Harry scraped his teeth over his lower lip and produced green, so Severus cupped his cheek in one hand. 

“Very good,” he continued. “You know the rules, now. Keep your head on the wall. No talking. No crying, no begging, no nothing. If you disobey, I’ll hit you. Do you understand?” Harry nodded, blinking hard over his black doll-eyes like he was hoping they’d clear. But they wouldn’t. Not until Severus said the countercurse, anyway. 

He thumbed Harry’s mouth open.

“You look quite demonic like this, you know,” he murmured, sliding two fingers between his lips. “Like something I’ve summoned straight from hell to use in some despicable way. Something dangerous, but not as dangerous as I am, of course. My deadly little plaything.” Harry’s cheeks hollowed around his fingers with a shallow whine, but then he tensed, and his sightless eyes widened. “Oh, are you worried I’ll hurt you for making such a sweet little noise? I did say silence, didn’t I?” He pulled his hand back just to watch Harry flinch. And flinch he did. Violently. Severus tsked. “And you’re afraid no one can control you.” He slid his boot between Harry’s knees and nudged them apart. “I control you. And look how well you respond. My my, you really do belong at my feet, don’t you? What those terrified peons at the Ministry would think if they could see you now.” He unbuckled his belt. “Open your mouth. And stay on the wall.”

Harry wet his lips and obeyed, and Severus could practically see the, ‘yes, sir,’ in his brain. Shining like a beacon in his expression, and in the way he spread his thighs a little more, his cock visibly straining against the fly of his jeans. He wanted to say it, and badly. But he stayed quiet, like the good boy he was.

“Gorgeous,” Severus growled, watching as Harry’s trapped hands flexed and clenched into fists above his head as he heard the rustling of Severus’ trousers being opened. “Do you want what I gave you at the dining table?” He held himself steady with one hand and stepped closer, brushing the head of his cock across Harry’s bottom lip, but withdrew just out of reach when his tongue flicked out. Harry’s hands clenched tight and he exhaled forcefully. “Now now, Potter. Where are your manners? Ask nicely.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he shook his head _no_ against the wall. It was so forceful that Severus could tell that he wasn’t really saying _‘no.’_ What he was saying was, _‘I can’t. I can’t. You told me I can’t speak.’_

“No?” Severus asked, deliberately misunderstanding, and withdrew further, taking his hands away. “As you wish.” He took a few steps back and then watched as Harry opened and closed his mouth and then jerked his hands down against their magical bonds. His meaning was very clear: _‘not fair.’_ And it wasn’t fair, and it was going to get worse. He wanted to feel helpless, and he was going to feel helpless. Because Severus was going to make him break his own rules, and then punish him for it. What was more disarming than that? As long as Harry didn’t get so agitated that something vaporized or burst into flames. But even then, it would probably be fine. None of Harry's outbursts had ever hurt him. Not really, anyway.

He stayed quiet and waited as Harry lifted his head and then knocked it back against the wall and turned his face into his arm in frustration, breathing heavily. But then his eyes opened, black like polished onyx, and his mouth twisted in triumph. And mercy, he did look wicked that way. Satanic. Why was he smiling? 

Severus narrowed his eyes as Harry shifted, arching his back, careful to keep his head on the wall, and reached the fingers of his right hand to their absolute fullest extension towards his left, twisting his face in effort. And then finally, he managed to touch just the pad of his index finger to his bracelet, and Severus’ wrist warmed. 

He looked down.

 _[Please?]_ appeared. 

“Oh, very clever,” Severus answered, and stepped back towards him, seizing his hair and jaw and opening his mouth. “I suppose you deserve a reward, don’t you?” He pressed inside all at once, with no teasing. Just cock all the way to the back, dragging against his tongue and pressing against his soft palate, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and choked, his hands opening flat on the wall over his head and twitching once. Severus watched his fingertips as he thrust hard, mercilessly against the back of his throat, but there were no sparks. He didn’t expect them anyway, and when Harry touched his bracelet again, Severus went still with Harry’s nose pressed to his abdomen, and turned his attention to his wrist.

_[More Severus more harder more more more]_

“My god.” He tugged Harry’s head off the wall by the back of his hair, tilting it down to force into his throat. “Hard enough? Hm?” Harry’s gag reflex tightened around him and then relaxed and tightened again, and his hips twitched up into nothing, and his fingers reached for his cuff like it was his last link to reality.

_[moreSeverusmoremorefuckharderharderpunishmeusemeiwantitpleasepleaseharderhurtmehitmehitmeSeveruspleasepleasepleaseplease]_

Severus felt the remaining blood in his brain drain southward as he read the garbled nonsense. “You filthy little devil. Think you can distract me? You -” 

_Bang - bang - bang -_

He looked up. 

It was the bloody _door._ For God’s sake he hadn’t warded the _door._

“Fuck.”

_“Severus? Harry?”_ came a muffled voice from out in the corridor. It sounded like Minerva, and the knocking came again. _“Gentlemen? Kingsley’s here to speak to you. Are you in there?”_

 _“Severus?”_ And that was Kingsley. Great. _“This is, as I’m sure you’re aware, somewhat important.”_

Fucking hell it was a good thing Harry hadn’t been around to pull his attention during the war. He would have killed himself through sheer gross negligence. Just wandering around using his prick for a brain.

He looked back down at Harry, his black eyes turned up towards him, his mouth stretched obscenely around his cock, his hands trapped and his head held off the wall. Definitely not a very auspicious time to meet with the Minister of Magic. Well, good thing the divine creature he had on his knees was an irresistible wellspring of magical power. 

“Care to send them away?” he asked in a low voice. “I’m not even remotely close to being through with you.” He tightened his hands around Harry’s head and began to move again, pulsing the head of his cock against the back of his throat. “Go on. Tell them to fuck off until I’m finished. Go on. Tell them.” 

_“Harry? Severus? Maybe they’re…”_ There was some indecipherable discussion from outside the door, and Severus pressed in to the base and held still, cutting off Harry’s air, and Harry’s trapped hands fisted and then twitched back open. 

The voices vanished. 

“What a good boy,” Severus growled. “Can’t have the Minister interrupting my service to you, can we?” Harry’s hands clenched tight again, and Severus held his head off the wall, and resumed fucking his mouth. “They can scold you for breaking into the Auror Headquarters once you’re nice and relaxed and full of come, hm?” An involuntary tear leaked out of Harry’s eyes, and Severus doubled down, thrusting more forcefully, wanting another. And he got another, and then he pulled out, slammed Harry’s head back, and slapped him. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head on the wall, love?” he purred over Harry’s coughing and gasping. “Lift it again and you won’t get my palm.”

He _almost_ expected a glare for that obvious hypocrisy, but Harry just sucked in a great lungful of air, coughed again, swallowed, and touched his bracelet over his head.

 _[Yes, sir]_ appeared as Harry blinked blindly up at him. _[I’m sorry. Your hands are really strong]_

“How polite.” Severus wiped the tears from his cheeks, and then slid his thumb over his wet, swollen lips. “Are you going to disobey me again?” he asked, and Harry shook his head, _no._ “Are you sure? You must know you’re not in control, here. Not with me.” He returned his hand to the back of Harry’s head and pulled it right back off the wall. And Harry resisted, twisted, tried to keep his head in place, but, of course, Severus’ hands _were_ strong. Stronger than Harry, anyway, and Harry could no more resist his touch than Severus could resist Harry’s magic. Or his commands. Or his requests, or the slightest flick of his gaze. Severus was powerless in the face of Harry Potter. Just… not right then. 

And right then, Harry pressed his lips together, and squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to turn his face away, but Severus held him still and forced his mouth open. And then, all at once, Harry stopped trying to struggle and went weak. Weak and pliable and limp from the top of his head to his folded legs, and Severus filled his mouth, holding his head tight in both hands and turning his attention back to his fingers where they were relaxed and half-curled against the wall even as his throat spasmed in distress. 

“Color?” he asked, and after a moment, a very feeble sprinkle of green sparks drifted from his fingertips to extinguish on the floor. So Severus gave him more, counting the seconds, pulsing his hips forward minutely, as deep as he could get, waiting for Harry to come back to life in response to the lack of air. It took twenty-six seconds, and then Harry’s whole body twitched like a drowning man caught between two stones, and Severus jerked back. _“Solvo,”_ he said, and Harry’s hands fell from the wall and into his lap, and his head sagged forward, and Severus struck him backhand across the mouth, knocking him straight to the floor. He fell onto his hands, gasping in shock and pain, and Severus took him by the hair and dragged him across the room. Spilling him over the arm of the sofa, he held his face to the cushions by the back of his neck. “COLOR?” he demanded, and when Harry just whimpered, dug his fingernails in. “Wake up, love. Color or I’ll stop. You know I'm good for it. I won’t hurt you like this if you won’t give me your color.” Still, Harry did not show sparks, and Severus tugged his head off of the upholstery. “Last chance, Harry. Color or I put you in the bath and go out to deal with Kingsley.”

There was a pause, filled with nothing but Harry’s harsh breaths, and Severus looked at his hands, waiting, but still, there were no sparks. Harry spoke instead, his eyes half-closed and looking more infernal than ever. 

“Green.”

Severus dropped his face back to the cushions.

“You really do want more, don’t you?” he demanded, reaching around Harry’s body for his fly. “Even after I’ve split your lip you still _disobey._ It is split, isn’t it? Are you tasting blood, my love?” He pulled Harry’s jeans and underwear down his legs and then scored his fingernails down the backs of his thighs. “One more time, Harry,” he continued. “More? Or is it enough?”

“Green,” Harry said again, his voice rough and shallow, and he put his hands behind his back and grabbed his elbows. “More.”

_Little madman. Lord._

_Punish him._

_“Incarcerous,”_ Severus growled, binding his arms together, and planted one boot on the trousers down around his ankles to keep him from moving his legs. Then he pointed his wand at the back of Harry’s head. _“Surdi Silentium.”_

There was a tiny delay as the magic hit him, and then Harry jerked and gasped like he’d been plunged into icy water, and Severus reached down to snap his fingers next to his ear. No reaction to the sound, of course, though Harry was quite abruptly panting very hard. 

“Good,” Severus murmured, and slid his palm up underneath Harry’s shirt, underneath his bound arms, and then raked his nails down his back. Unable to hear himself, Harry yelped, and then moaned, and then he froze solid. And _that_ was a fear response. No fear for the Aurors, though. No fear for the Aurors, or for the Minister, or Dumbledore, and no fear for the Dark Lord. All they got was arrogance and flippancy. Only Severus got Harry’s fear. Only Severus got his shaking and weeping. 

And that was what he was going to get right now.

Weeping.

He pinned Harry’s head hard into the cushions and leaned over to exhale against his neck. 

“I’m sure you want desperately to hear what I’m saying to you, my love… my beautiful boy…” he began, pressing up against him, his cock, hard and sticky from Harry’s mouth, sliding between his legs. “But you can’t. You can’t even hear your own heartbeat, and I’m going to keep talking until you break. Would you like that? Just left in the silence and the darkness with nothing but touch?” He paused, and kissed the shell of his ear, and Harry let out a child-like whimper that Severus had never heard come out of his mouth before. “Oh,” he breathed against Harry’s skin, ensuring that he would know Severus was saying _something,_ even if he had no idea what _._ “You just want to please me, but you don’t know how. You can’t see my face, or hear my commands, and you can’t move. All you know is that I’ve told you not to make any noise, and you’ve already failed, and failed again.” Harry dug his face into the sofa, and then started to shake all over. “What terror, to be so completely at my mercy, thinking you’ve fallen short.” He touched the tip of his wand to his skin one more time, casting the lubrication charm, and a single sob burst out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it. “Mm. I do hope whatever you used to ward this room blocks sound, as I doubt you’ll be able to stay quiet no matter how hard you try.” He tapped one of Harry’s hands with two fingers, waited a beat, and then tapped it again, and purple sparks issued from his fingertips. “Excellent intuition as always.”

He began stroking his palms over Harry’s hips, gentle and affectionate, to see if Harry might snap out of it and try to protest. But he didn’t. He stayed quiet, and shook. So Severus set about stretching him. Harry’s arousal had not flagged at all, despite his obvious terror, and as Severus worked two fingers into him, sweat broke out on his skin, and his full-body tremors began to transform into the sort of twitches and jerks that Severus knew intimately. Harry was just so exquisitely sensitive. So responsive. Every single time. 

“Shall I get you off this way?” he asked softly, teasing at Harry’s prostate with his fingertips. “I could. I haven’t forgotten the way you finished the night you took _Felix Felicis._ Your cock untouched? I’ll carry that memory with me to the afterlife. Shall I do that to you again? With just my fingers? Just _massage one out of you?”_ He began to draw circles around the spot, pressing against it, teasing at the edges, and when Harry tried to lift his head, pinned it back down. “No,” he said, though, of course, Harry couldn’t hear him. But Harry understood the command inherent in being pinned, and he exhaled sharply and stayed still as Severus added another finger to give him a bit more stretch. “I know it feels good,” Severus continued, stroking Harry’s wild hair where he was holding his head down. “And I think you know what I’m trying to do to you, now. Are you going to be a good boy and let me? Hm?” He increased the pressure of his fingers, and a drop of precome fell to the floor as Harry tried desperately to choke off the strangled moan fighting to come out of his mouth. His legs were trembling. “You’re trying so hard. I wonder what might happen if I gave you back my voice. I think you might _disintegrate.”_ He released Harry’s head, and took up his wand, maintaining the rhythmic movement of his hand. _“Liberoauris,”_ he said, and Harry gasped, and Severus curled his fingers, stroking firmly, coaxing out another bead of fluid. “Look at that,” he growled, low and deliberate into Harry’s ear. _“What a good boy.”_

The cry that tore itself out of Harry’s throat was truly desperate, and his body spasmed around Severus’ fingers, his legs resisting hard against the boot planted on his trousers, and Severus looked down to see his release spilling out onto the floor in great shuddering pulses. And then Harry’s knees buckled, and he went limp over the arm of the sofa, and he was sobbing through his aftershocks - weeping like his very soul had been yanked out. 

“How precious.” Severus kissed his tailbone, gentling his fingers as he coaxed the last traces of pleasure out of him. “What color?” he asked, but Harry did not even seem to register the question. He just continued to shake and cry. Real tears, too, pouring out of eyes the lustrous black of volcanic glass. He probably needed an easier question. Open-ended color was too difficult. Severus withdrew his fingers and gave him a little smack on the thigh. “Turn your head,” he said. “Let me see your mouth.” His voice was hard, and Harry obeyed, parting his lips so Severus could see the blood pinking his teeth. “Healing that. Red or green? I give you leave to speak.”

“Red,” Harry whispered. 

“Fine.” Severus didn’t really want to heal it, anyway. “Fucking you on the sofa. Red or green?” 

“G-green.”

“Lovely. _Relashio.”_ Harry’s hands fell weakly to his sides as the cords fell away, and Severus freed his legs from his trousers at last, pulling off his shoes and maneuvering him over the arm of the sofa and onto his back. Then he got on top of him, still nearly fully-dressed, and settled between Harry’s thighs. He didn’t ask again. He just slid one palm underneath his hips, and sank into him. And mercy, he was very well prepared. He was hot, and slick, and his body was yielding, and as Severus cupped the back of his head in his clean hand and kissed him, the taste of copper and salt flooded his tongue. Harry’s blood and Harry’s tears, only for him, and _fuck -_ he was not going to last very long at all. “Harder?” he murmured against Harry’s lips. “Red or green?”

“Green,” Harry answered, and then again, as Severus snapped his hips forward. _“Green-”_

“Yes,” Severus breathed, and kissed him again, slow and deep, lifting his hips higher into his thrusts and bracing one boot against the floor to gather a little more force, wanting him to cry out. And he did cry out, and it was pitiful, and Severus turned his face into Harry’s neck, biting at him, burying himself over and over into the incredible furnace of his body. That delicious _body._

“Good?” he asked, and Harry just moaned in response, and repeated his color, over and over, like it was being knocked out of him.

_“Green - green - green -”_

“Harry, _fuck,”_ Severus gasped, and bit down harder. He could feel his peak threatening, like floodwaters seeping into a crack in a dike. A critical fault, ready to burst. As in, _now._ “Coming - inside you-” he managed. “Red or green? I - want - to hear it-”

 _“Green,”_ Harry whimpered. _“Sir - please-”_

“God, you’re _so-”_ But Severus couldn’t finish. His sentiment dissolved in his mouth, melting into nonsense against Harry’s shoulder as he tipped over, his hips jerking forward, digging the treads of his boot into the rug, and his nails into Harry’s hip and scalp, a snarl of ecstasy tearing out of him with his pleasure. And then, still inside him, he called his wand to his hand, knowing he had only moments before Harry imploded back into shaking. He lifted the blindness first, though Harry’s eyes were closed, and then, hoping to head off the temperature crash that was surely looming, touched his wand to his skin. _“Calefaceret Corposem.”_

Heat began radiating off of Harry’s body like a baking stone, and finally, Severus relaxed, collapsing down onto him, panting, his brain blissfully blank and his legs tingling.

Harry Potter was the most fuckable person in the world, and that was a hill he would die on. 

Merciful Merlin. 

  
  



	13. FUCK OFF

Harry twitched in his sleep, and as Severus came to and blinked his heavy eyes open, he oriented himself in space and realized that his cheek was resting on Harry’s chest, and one arm and leg were hanging off the sofa, and he had not even managed to pull out properly before drifting off.

_Chloroform. He’s chloroform._

He shifted carefully, not wanting to wake him, but Harry did not seem to notice when Severus withdrew, or when he cast his usual cleaning charms and vanished the blood smeared on his mouth. And when Severus lifted the heating charm, lay a blanket over him and tucked it under his feet, he just turned his face towards the cushions and murmured a little, and then lay still again. 

Severus stood for a moment looking down at him, wondering if he should take him to bed and lay down, too, or if he should investigate the state of the corridor outside. He doubted their visitors would have given up easily, and he had no idea what Harry had done to get rid of them. Rather rude to have sicced Harry on them that way when he was already so aggravated. He could have apparated them into the grounds, or frozen them in place, or made a barrier, or a guardian, or collapsed the ceiling, or anything, really. Could have killed them both, or transfigured them into a pair of box turtles. 

Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to just open the door, would it? If there was no one there, he could send a note, or his Patronus, and stay with Harry until he woke. And if he found something else, then he’d deal with whatever it was.

Straightening his clothes, he crossed to the door, pulled it open, and let out a bark of laughter. Because Harry had, indeed, made a barrier. A wall of light, just like at the Ministry. But that wasn’t all. Emblazoned on the light, facing outward into the corridor in shining golden letters a hand-span high were the words: FUCK OFF.

Which, of course, was exactly what Severus had told him to communicate to their visitors. But Minerva and Kingsley had not fucked off. They were sitting on the floor of the Dungeons, deep in inaudible conversation. And that, Severus hoped, meant that this particular iteration of Harry’s unbreakable shield was soundproofed, and so they hadn’t heard him say, _‘are you tasting blood, my love?’_ or heard the noise Harry’d made when his hearing returned. Or the _sobbing._

Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. 

Wary of being burned or otherwise deterred, he touched the barrier with the very tips of his fingers, but found it warm and smooth as greenhouse glass. Just a wall, then. 

He rapped lightly on it with his knuckles. No reaction. He glanced back at the sofa and then knocked a little harder. Still nothing, so he tried waving, and then his brain reconnected and he pulled out his wand and cast _lumos._

Minerva saw the new light on the wall and looked around, and Severus watched the two of them get to their feet and start gesticulating and pointing, their lips moving in a way that made him quite sure that Minerva, at least, was scolding him. Kingsley didn’t seem quite as annoyed as she was, however, which Severus thought showed rather admirable aplomb. Particularly as Harry had humiliated his former underlings in truly spectacular fashion and then told him to fuck off.

Minerva, however, was perfectly capable of hitting stride on a tirade and becoming unstoppable. So, when she seemed to be doing that, Severus opened his hands, gestured to his ear, and shrugged, and she raised her own hands and looked at the ceiling like she was begging God for restraint. Then she conjured a piece of parchment and a quill.

 _Drop the shield,_ she wrote, and then held it up for him to read.

He conjured his own. 

_I can’t._

Minerva glared at him. _What do you mean you can’t?_

_Harry cast it. He’s sleeping._

_SLEEPING?_

Severus shrugged again.

 _Too much wandless magic makes him tired,_ he wrote, and held it up, and then, as an afterthought - _Our apologies._ He nodded at Kingsley, who heaved a great sigh, and conjured his own piece of parchment:

_No one can get the Aurors out of the floor._

Minerva and Kingsley stood and watched Severus laugh through the magical barrier. 

“What an obnoxious person,” Kingsley intoned, and then chuckled. “Is he like this all the time, now?”

“Yes,” Minerva answered shortly. 

Severus got himself under control and held up one finger, and then went back to the sofa and crouched down beside the very satisfied and very unconscious source of Minerva’s ire.

“Harry,” he said gently, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “Wake up, love. I know you’re exhausted, but you only need to be lucid for a moment. Come on. Wake up.” Harry’s brow crinkled and he hummed. “Harry.” His eyes opened blearily, struggling to focus on him. “Oh, there you are. Hello.”

“Mm? S’matter?”

“Nothing,” Severus answered, smoothing the pad of his thumb across Harry’s temple. “I’m sorry to wake you, but the Minister and future Headmistress are blockaded outside the door, and are humbly requesting that you release the Aurors from their bondage.”

“What?” Harry asked groggily.

“Undo your magic at the Ministry,” Severus said. 

“Oh… M’kay…” Harry hung one limp hand out of the blanket, and a tingle of magic shivered from his index finger and into the floor. “All done…” he closed his eyes again, and Severus kissed his forehead. 

“Thank you. Sleep, now.” 

Harry murmured again and Severus tucked his arm back up beside him, and returned to the door. 

_Aurors should be good as new,_ he wrote, and held it up for the pair of them to read. 

_This is ridiculous,_ Minerva slapped against the light, and Severus ignored her and wrote for Kingsley. 

_Are you going to arrest me? Head Auror tried. That’s why he got special treatment._

Kingsely shook his head, _no,_ and held up his own reply: _No arrests, though DMLE is not happy with me. Where are the Malfoys?_

 _Safe,_ Severus wrote, and then looked Kingsley in the eye, and held up: _You know Draco turned. Why take him?_

He watched Kingsley sigh again, and waited as he scratched out his reply: _It was a valid arrest, but I did not sign off on the warrant. Aurors are trying to save face. Whole unit was under the imperius except Order members, or so they say. Very embarrassing, and not very many Deatheaters left alive to catch._

Severus nodded, and wrote: _Come back tomorrow and we can discuss. Harry is too tired now._ He hesitated. _Or we could come to you. Gesture of faith._

But Kingsley shook his head again, and wrote again.

_No need for that yet. I will come here. Headmaster’s office, 4:00?_

_Fine,_ Severus answered. _But not the Headmaster’s office._

He watched as Kingsley and Minerva conferred.

 _Mine?_ Minerva wrote. _I removed all the portraits. Albus kept trying to bother me._

***

Once Minerva and Kingsley had gone, Severus poured himself a glass of water and drained it, took off his boots, and poured himself a fortifying glass of wine. Now that Harry was taken care of, and the interlopers had been sent away, it was time to take a look at the miniaturized newspaper he had in his back pocket. He’d only caught a glimpse of the cover at the security desk, but when he returned it to full size, he saw that it was rather worse than he’d thought. So, he settled in to the armchair and prepared to be offended.

 _SCANDAL ROCKS HOGWARTS,_ was the splash, and Severus sat and watched the ridiculous “art” loop a few times, unwilling to turn the page. Harry looked positively radiant - glowing with health and vitality and _literal light_ \- while Severus himself looked like someone that might be found selling counterfeit euphoria potions in the dark corners of Knockturn Alley. And, of course, he certainly hadn’t been standing in a _puddle of blood_ at the end, nor had he bent Harry backwards that way. No one kissed like that. That sort of nonsense was for bodice-ripping romance novels, not real lovers. 

And then there was the caption, which did not bode well at all.

_Reconstructed from eyewitness accounts. Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster, 38: right. Harry Potter, Chosen One, 17: left. He Who Must Not Be Named, on fire: center. See page two for detailed interviews and analysis._

With the horror-inducing byline:

_By best-selling author and award-winning field reporter, Rita Skeeter._

He glanced over at Harry on the sofa, serene as you please with his split lip and his red cheek, and then, with a sense of impending doom, turned the page. 

His mouth dropped open.

Pages two and three were densely packed with a truly forbidding wall of text, which was sure to be a character assassination of the worst kind. But the _pictures._ Good god. What creativity. 

The first, high on the left, was an alarmingly inaccurate rendering of Harry looking truly christ-like, standing in the center of the Great Hall with golden waterfalls of light pouring from his extended arms, and the Dark Lord cowering at his feet. The caption read: _Harry Potter, Chosen One, wandlessly disarming He Who Must Not Be Named._ They’d dressed him in white, too. And he had not been in white. He’d been wearing jeans and a navy pullover, and had been scorched and bloody and battered. He’d _died,_ and the fucking Daily prophet made it look like he’d floated in on a cloud. 

_‘Eyewitness accounts,’_ indeed.

Just below that charming portrait of his beloved Harry saving the world was one depicting his own service to humanity: A heavily censored rendering of the Dark Lord’s execution. It was just as exaggerated as the cover, and the spray of blood shooting from Lord Voldemort’s throat was comically huge and blurred like a cloud of red fog. And then there was Severus himself, unflatteringly drawn as a slice of darkness with a hooked nose, standing in a lake of gore, one skeletal arm held out like the condemning finger of God. 

_Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster, turns on the Deatheaters,_ was the cut. 

How polite of Rita Skeeter to imply that he’d turned right then, instead of when he was twenty-one. As if he’d decided only after the Dark Lord was disarmed that he would be better served switching to Harry’s side, rather than working tirelessly to that end for seventeen years. 

Generous.

He took a deep breath and looked back at Harry, imagining his eyes sparking in fury as he looked at the illustrations. Literally sparking, probably, for though the first image might offend him, the second would surely enrage him. Because as much as Harry did not like being idolized, he _really_ did not like it when anyone disparaged Severus. The meeting with Minerva had proven that, and having seen Harry’s reaction to the Aurors suggesting that Severus was under arrest for murder, he had to wonder what might have happened if Minerva had pushed just a bit harder. If Harry might have vaporized her bookshelves, or lit something on fire, if she hadn’t backed down from her accusations.

It was sweet, really. Harry was the only person that had ever defended him that way. Just the way he’d told off Lupin, all those many months ago. But back then, of course, Harry hadn’t been nearly as powerful as he was now. And certainly his defense would be more endearing and less alarming if it didn’t have such destructive potential. 

He looked to the final illustration, with the cutline: _Defenders of Hogwarts Shocked._ That one featured the two of them on their white sheet directly after the battle, and was surely meant as the peak draw of the entire article. Scandal, tragedy, violence, and romance for the masses, and piles of galleons for the Daily Prophet. And though it treated Severus just as poorly as the others, he had to admit that he actually rather liked that one. Even if it did make him look like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Famine, possibly. If not Death. 

There he was - _Severus Snape, 38_ \- looking somehow both dangerously wicked and dangerously emaciated, taking hold of the front of Harry’s shirt with one bloody hand, and pulling him forward into a kiss so aggressive it was almost violent. And Harry, cherubic and virtuous, his incongruous white clothing staining red, submitting to his touch like he’d been drugged. The background was, predictably, a sea of horrified faces, including the added detail of a teenage girl fainting straight to the ground. It wasn’t anyone Severus recognized, though, and he doubted it was even a real person. A composite character, maybe. An _archetypal_ teenage girl to give weight to the _horror._ The _disgusting depravity._

It was offensive. But it was also hilarious. Because somehow, the Prophet had managed to depict their private style of romance quite accurately while trying to be inflammatory. For though Severus certainly hadn’t kissed Harry like that on their sheet in front of all those people, and the actual teenage girls who’d seen them together had not fainted, he certainly had kissed Harry just that way many times. He’d done it mere hours after the battle, in fact. And, up against the wall, Harry had submitted to him very nicely. And then, of course, Severus had hurled him onto the bed and fucked him to within an inch of his life. 

He supposed he should be grateful that the Prophet cartoonists lacked the imagination to depict him slapping Harry right in the face.

He sighed, and ready to be enraged, turned to the actual text and began to read.

***

The first thing Draco did when Kreacher appeared in the parlor was beg for something else - _anything_ else - to wear. 

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. 

The first thing he did was scream. But after that he asked for clothes, and Kreacher bowed and brought him a pair of slacks and a monogrammed turtleneck. The initials on the collar read R.A.B, and the clothes fit relatively well, so Draco gathered they’d belonged to his late cousin Regulus. He’d been a Seeker, too, and slender the way Draco was slender, if a bit shorter. So after a few minor alterations to the length, he at least felt human again. It took a little longer to locate something for his mother, though, who ended up in one of Walburga Black’s debutante robes, which were the only ones even remotely close to being small enough for her. So while she went to change and fuss with the fit, Draco sat in the kitchen watching Kreacher cook dinner.

“Master Potter told Kreacher to take care of Master and Mistress Mafloy,” Kreacher croaked, standing on a stool to stir a copper pot. “Does risotto agree with Master?”

“Yes, thank you, Kreacher,” Draco answered, sipping at a glass of port. The wine cellar had indeed been stocked, and though the port rather forcibly reminded Draco of wanting to kill himself in Snape’s living room, it was still good, and he drank it. “Will you tell Harry thank you, as well? He saved me, you know.”

Kreacher glanced at Draco over his shoulder. “Kreacher thinks Master Potter is indisposed at the moment,” he said. “He is seeming agitated when Kreacher left him with Master Snape.”

“Oh,” Draco said, and blushed. “Um. I meant… later. When he’s not… busy.” Good thing his mother hadn’t come back downstairs yet. She probably would have had something mortifying to say about that. “Was he… alright? Not hurt or anything, I mean.” He felt his color deepen, trying very hard not to imagine what Snape might do with an ‘agitated’ Harry Potter after the scene they’d made in the Ministry.

“No, Master Potter is not hurt,” Kreacher answered. “Does Master Malfoy take mushrooms in his risotto?”

“Sure… thank you.” It was a little bit odd having Harry’s house-elf cooking him dinner, and his head was already feeling fuzzy from the port. He supposed that was the exhaustion. “Did he say when he would come? Or, if he is, I suppose.” He rubbed his eyes. “Is he coming?”

“Master Potter did not say when, but Kreacher will prepare a room for Masters Potter and Snape.” Kreacher summoned some salt out of thin air and cast it into the pot. “Kreacher is hoping they will come.”

“Yeah,” Draco sighed. “Me too.”

“What are we hoping for?” his mother asked from the doorway, and Draco looked around and gasped. 

“Mother! You look _ridiculous!”_

Narcissa smoothed the tiers of lilac lace down her waist. “Please, darling. This was the height of high fashion in eighteen-twelve. Oh, that smells delicious! Kreacher always was a wonderful cook.” She took a seat beside her son. “His pastries were the highlight of my childhood, you know. Just _perfection.”_

Kreacher shivered in pleasure over his steaming pot. “Mistress Malfoy is too kind to Kreacher,” he croaked. “Kreacher will make _gibassier_ for breakfast.”

Kreacher’s risotto was, in fact, excellent, and Draco absolutely demolished it along with another two glasses of port, and over dinner he argued with his mother about what sort of gifts Harry might like. It was an argument rather than a discussion, primarily because she refused to believe him that the only things Harry really seemed to like were broomsticks, Snape, and treacle tart, and insisted on grilling him at length as to what sort of colors he gravitated towards, and whether or not he wore jewelry, or cologne, or hair potions, and if he really needed his glasses or of it was a ‘look,’ and what he liked to drink, and when he tried to say he didn’t know, she countered with: “You’ve spoken of nothing at all but that boy for years. You must know his favorite color!”

“I dunno, RED AND GOLD MAYBE?” Draco finally burst out, almost slopping wine over himself. “Or _black._ He seems to really like _black._ Just older men, and black, and _breaking laws._ That’s what he likes!”

 _“Black,”_ Narcissa scoffed. “I think he’d look dashing in green - a dark green, maybe. It wouldn’t do to clash with his eyes, of course. Forest, or a very deep emerald…” she gazed off into the middle distance, and Draco scoffed. 

“He’s not a _paper doll,_ mother,” he said, but she wasn’t listening. And she was right, anyway. He would look dashing in forest green. Slytherin colors suited him. 

“I think he must like jewelry,” Narcissa continued. “He does wear that bracelet. Maybe a nice timepiece. Or… cufflinks. Yes! With a ruby _inlay_ and - Well, no. I suppose cufflinks would suit Severus a bit more. He has a latent taste for finery, you know. He used to give your father such an eye…” But then she trailed off, sighed, and said something extremely alarming. “Though I may be getting ahead of myself. We might have to settle for something a bit more modest.”

“Modest?” Draco asked. “Why? They broke us out of prison. And if we get full pardons, I was thinking more along the lines of a fucking _penthouse appartment in london_ with an attached bathouse.” He paused. “And a butler. No!” He held out his hands. “A _centaur butler.”_

Narcissa regarded him seriously. “Draco,” she said. “At this point I think we must assume that our accounts are frozen, and our assets seized. Certainly the Manor has been. Though if Mr. Potter does manage to exonerate us instead of just springing us from custody, we might recover enough to live on.”

“Enough to live on?” Draco asked, appalled. “What does _that_ mean?”

“I anticipate reparations,” Narcissa answered, looking down at her plate. “Your father’s crimes were… notable. If we cannot separate from his reputation…”

Draco put down his glass. “So, What? We’re _poor?”_

 _“Poor?”_ Narcissa repeated back with an airy laugh, recovering her usual grace. “No, darling. But I doubt we’ll ever be quite as rich again, and we certainly can’t go to Gringotts just now to make any large withdrawals. Or any at all, really. I suppose I’m stuck in Aunty Walburga’s clothes!” She laughed again, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Draco frowned, annoyed.

“You look like a cake in that frock, mother,” he said snidely. “And how you can find this _funny-”_

“But it _is_ funny, darling!” she answered. “Don’t you realize how close we’ve come to the gallows? We both could have died out on that battlefield, and now the _Chosen One_ is breaking us out of prison? It’s just fabulous. How in Merlin’s name you got him to like you after everything…” she shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Draco took up his glass again and glared into it, swirling the last sip around.

 _Did_ Harry like him? If he did, he had no idea why. But Harry came to his rescue, hadn’t he? And more than that. He’d checked Draco’s arms for bruising from the manacles, and asked how he was treated. So… he must. Or, at least, he must not _dislike_ him anymore. It was almost like Harry protected him because Snape helped him, and Snape helped him because Harry liked him, and that didn’t make any sense at all. 

“Maybe… he feels guilty for cutting me open?” he hazarded. “I did almost die.”

Narcissa looked skeptically at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, my precious and only son, but I think that may have been your own fault.”

Draco gasped in indignation. _“My own fault?_ Pardon _me,_ mother. I certainly didn’t-” He stopped. “Well, yes. Maybe it was.”

“And that Weasley, too!” Narcissa continued. “The Chosen One _and_ one of his adoptive brothers! Why couldn’t you make friends like _that_ during school? Instead of those thugs.”

 _“Charlie Weasley is not my friend!”_ Draco hissed, slamming his glass back down. “And father would have knocked out my teeth if I-” 

“Mistress and Master Malfoy,” Kreacher cut in, appearing in the doorway to the dining room. “Kreacher has prepared bedrooms, if Mistress and Master are ready to retire.”

***

Severus spent about forty-five minutes reading about what a despicable person he was before deciding that Harry must be shielded from all newspapers for the rest of his life. Because if Harry saw what Severus had in his hands, he would surely create volcanic winter. Just absolutely explode like Mount Vesuvius. Or like a comet striking the continent and wiping out all life on earth. 

Just how Rita Skeeter had managed to put together a story like that, including quotations from _multiple school governors_ about the indecent relationship _Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster, 38,_ had with _Harry Potter, Chosen One, 17,_ so quickly after the end of the war, he could not guess. Though he supposed she had written her evisceration of Albus Dumbledore in mere weeks, and that had been nearly a thousand pages. Perhaps she could knock out a three-thousand word article in a day with no trouble. Particularly if she had willing sources. 

How many of Harry’s letters were from her, he wondered, requesting an interview? And how many from concerned readers, offering to help him escape the abusive and dangerous relationship he had somehow entered into with a depraved Deatheater? If there weren’t any of those yet, there would be soon. Maybe even as soon as the next morning, as subscribers began to express their displeasure for, as one _anonymous commenter_ put it, the ‘desecration’ of a ‘priceless treasure’ like Harry Potter, by a ‘lecherous brute’ like Severus Snape.

He touched one finger to the quotation. 

_Lecherous brute_ was a good one. Pity he hadn’t thought of it during the meeting with Minerva. It was just so evocative. Like he owned a brothel filled with seventeen-year-old boys, all bespectacled and lovely, and rented them out by the hour to be manhandled and enjoyed. 

He pursed his lips and let out his breath in a slow, controlled stream. 

Harry would have to be shielded from that nonsense. But how? He couldn’t very well be kept in a cave, could he? Though he supposed Harry had evaded much of the Undesirable Number One coverage in just that way. No one could show you the newspaper when you were hiding in the woods. 

But this was not _Undesirable Number One._ This was not _Harry Potter is wanted for terrorism._ Harry would have found those articles absurd and humorous. Obvious and poorly-rendered spin from the Dark Lord’s mouthpiece at the Ministry. This, though… was not quite as funny. 

But then, Harry was used to being in the papers, wasn’t he? Severus did vaguely recall another article by Rita Skeeter, years ago. Something about Hermione Granger being a harlot and breaking Harry’s heart, which Severus had found patently ridiculous even at the time. If anyone would have been capable of breaking the heart of a fourteen-year-old Harry Potter, it was Cedric Diggory, not the girl who was more sister to Harry than any blood relative could ever be. But, again, the press lacked the imagination. And that had been for the best, because that year was a mess. Not as much of a mess as the next three, but still. A public outing would have been a nightmare. Though now it seemed that Harry had dodged the coming-out trauma with the sheer outlandishness of _which_ partner he had chosen. Who Severus was specifically had apparently overshadowed the information that he was, in fact, a man. Nowhere in the article was it explicitly mentioned that the Chosen One was homosexual. But then… maybe they thought he wasn’t. He supposed it was heavily implied that Severus had won Harry’s affections through some underhanded sorcery. As if even the darkest Wizards in history could control Harry that way. 

What might Harry say to someone that suggested he just hadn’t found the right girl? Or that all he needed was a course of detoxifiers and a stay in St. Mungo’s and he’d see sense and fall right back into the arms of Cho Chang? Or Hermione Granger, or whoever else. Lavender Brown, maybe. He’d saved her life, after all. 

Oh, maybe Ginny Weasley. Yes, surely that would be the choice for Harry. The only _female_ _Weasley._ That was just lazy enough for the pulp writers at the Prophet, and they were too dim to notice the Oedipal undertones.

He snorted.

There was, at least, one tiny redeeming quality to the article. And that was that Rita Skeeter had, apparently, been unable to get a statement from Remus. 

> _...an open secret amongst the Hogwarts Governors that there was something going on between the prickly former Potions Master and his charge. Something inappropriate, even sinister. But Albus Dumbeldore, who we all now know was not quite as white as his beard or as harmless as his spangled robes (see The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by yours truly), defended his successor to the very end, going so far as to testify on his behalf that Severus’ Snape’s uncommon interest in his student was fierce, but harmless._
> 
> _Remus Lupin, former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and family friend to the Potters, was the first to sound the alarm about the disturbing closeness developing between Harry Potter, a lost and vulnerable adolescent, and the most reviled Professor ever to walk Hogwarts’ hallowed halls, but when we reached out for comment, he was slightly less than receptive. Unwilling as he was to reopen the wounds of such a painful time…_

Severus hoped he’d slammed the door right in her face. 

He sat back a little in his chair and fingered the edge of the newsprint, gazing in the general direction of his _lost and vulnerable adolescent._

Harry Potter, so very lost and vulnerable. It wasn’t as if the entire staff of Magical Law Enforcement was at home sobbing into their beverage of choice right at that moment. No, Harry Potter was lost and vulnerable. It was Severus Snape that needed to be worried about. _He_ was the dangerous one. _He_ was the one that could barely keep from cremating his enemies through sheer _offence._ Not precious Potter, oh no. He was _lost and vulnerable._

Morons. 

There was no way to protect Harry from the bile entirely, that much was obvious. Their relationship was too shocking - too juicy and scandalous - to ever be left alone. A beloved figure like Harry, with a man twenty years his senior? His Professor? An ex-Deatheater that had, to all appearances, spent his entire adulthood serving at the knee of the man that killed Harry’s parents? It would be in the Prophet again, and the Wizard’s Voice, and Witch Weekly, and all the others. Miss Rita was just the first. She had a scoop, that was all.

Maybe it would be better to just show it to him. Allow him to destroy something in private, calm him down, and then present a united front to their accusers. Stand together in defense of their right to live the way they wanted to, no matter what the rest of the Wizarding World thought about it. 

Yes. And maybe once the shock wore off, he would laugh. 

Or… maybe he would burn down the Daily Prophet from across the country, the way he’d released the Aurors from Severus’ sofa. He certainly was capable of that. It was lucky he hadn’t done more damage to the Ministry, really. After everything those blasted politicians had done to him, he’d shown quite admirable restraint. And now this rubbish. And Harry would have to meet with the Minister, and likely testify before the Wizengamot, and confront all manner of stressful situations. Even without their relationship splattered across the tabloids, there was a rocky road ahead. And though Harry’s trigger point worked brilliantly on his anxiety and fear, it did not reduce his rage a single whit, and never had, and he’d spent the last long while in constant and unrelenting mortal danger. Of course he responded to emotional peril as if it were physical. Of course his body and magic overreacted. What else could anyone expect?

Severus should have brought it up right after the mirror incident, he knew that now. But he’d been hoping they might have a bit longer to rest before embarking on any new projects. And certainly he hadn’t expected to storm the Auror Offices so soon after the end of hostilities. Foolish to think anything below the _Auror Corps,_ though. Particularly after they’d been so humiliated. If _all_ of them really had been under the _imperius curse,_ that was a scandal by itself. And if it wasn’t true, that would be a separate scandal. 

He would just have to begin now, that was all. Before the meeting, and before anything else happened. Over breakfast, maybe, if Harry woke up early enough for breakfast.

But there was a small problem with that plan. Severus did not know how to teach him to withhold his power in that way. He didn’t think anyone in history had ever contained so much magic that it burst out with such force. Not without dying, in any case. And he might have taught Harry to _channel_ his magic, and focus it, and to overcome his panic, and how to sleep without tranquilizers, and how to survive alone, and how to accept softness, and care, but how in Merlin’s name might he have kept Harry from tearing open the sky the night Albus died, or shattering all the windows in his grief? How might he have prevented Harry from knocking Minerva and his friends against the walls after he’d been _rennervated,_ or from immolating the Dark Lord’s body? 

Every magical person was capable of outburst. Every magical child cast unknowingly and without a wand. Severus himself had shattered his own inkwell when confronted with Albus’ certainty that Harry had to die. But Harry… there was just so _much_ of him. So much power, so much magic, so much passion and so much loyalty. And all of it, contained so precariously in such a small body. It was shocking, really, each time he called forth such extraordinary magic _without_ lapsing back into the death-like sleep that had overcome him that morning in Number Twelve. Each time he did something impossible and then turned to look at Severus _without_ blood in his eyes it was a miracle. 

He sat for a while, sipping at his wine, trying to recall as much as he could of the way Harry’s magic functioned, and how it looked, and how it felt. The electric tingle of the grass growing under his feet, the haze and sparkle around Harry’s hands, and the way Harry sometimes gasped and shivered when he did something new. The light that had come out of him the night he first asked Severus to make love to him. The little stone snake. The chess set. The way he’d… inhaled… out in the grounds, when Severus asked him to clear the snow, and instead, he brought the spring. And then later, in the Shrieking Shack. 

That _scream._

The hairs on Severus’ arms stood on end, and he stared unseeingly at the paper in his lap, feeling the ghost of Harry’s ribs expanding under his hands as he pulled in the breath he needed to make that horrible sound. That… drawing in. Breath, and intention, and emotion, and magic. Concentrating inward, in order to explode out.

Like a supernova. Hadn’t he said that? Like a star collapsing in on itself, gathering its energy, ready to release into the void. Like Harry, terrified and enraged, inhaling, instinctively sucking his magic into his core, ready to destroy. To defend his people. 

Maybe he could do that in the midst of an outburst. Just… reverse it.

That was an idea, at least. 

He glanced once more at Harry curled up on the sofa, closed the paper, and shrank it back down.

In the morning, then. They could try.

  
  



	14. Excellence

“I’d like to discuss something with you,” Severus said, filling a plate with French toast and strawberries while Harry yawned hugely, his hair mussed and his lower lip swollen to a very noticeable pout. He’d slept well, and once Severus had taken him to bed, had spent the night curled up with his head on Severus’ chest. There had been some drool. 

A promising day to try for some magical experimentation.

“That was really good and I liked it a lot even though I cried,” Harry answered, taking the plate Severus offered him with another yawn.

“No, not that,” Severus chuckled, doling out his own breakfast. “Though I am glad to hear it. I thought I might have overstepped a bit with the _Silentium.”_

“Yeah, that was really scary,” Harry answered. “But when you took it off I pretty much came from sheer relief.” He started drizzling syrup over his toast. “Just hearing your voice…. Jeez. Never felt that before.”

“Orgasmic relief? That sounds quite powerful.” 

“Yeah… it was.” Harry put down the carafe of syrup, and watched Severus pour tea into two mugs. “But if it wasn’t that, then… I don’t want you to heal my mouth? I like it.” He ran his tongue over the split, and when Severus looked up at him, grinned. “And I think _you_ like it. You sadistic pervert.”

“Oh, yes,” Severus answered. “I always enjoy seeing my marks on you, my enchantingly twisted masochist. Perhaps more than would be strictly considered polite.” Harry laughed. “But it’s not that, either, and I’m not trying to make you guess.”

“What, then?”

“Well, there are two things, I suppose. First, we have a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt this afternoon, and he’s graciously agreed to have it here at Hogwarts to relieve you of the obligation of terrifying his Aurors a second time.” Harry put down his fork.

“Oh, fuck,” he said slowly. “He was at the door, wasn’t he? While you were… oooh.”

“Yes. Minerva, too.”

“Oh, god,” Harry groaned, and rested his head in one hand. “I sort of remember that. I was pretty. You know… out of it.”

“Yes you were,” Severus agreed. “I wasn’t allowing very much oxygen to reach your brain, as I recall. And you couldn’t see, of course.” And he’d been so far down he probably wouldn’t have been able to recite his own name and birthdate, let alone make complex decisions. “Do you remember what I told you to do?”

“Um…” Harry looked down, and started cutting his food up into tiny little bits. “You told me to send them away, and I… made a wall.” 

“Yes.”

“I think that’s all.”

Severus looked down at his own plate, and poured out a measured dollop of syrup. The house elves certainly didn’t cater to _his_ tastes. Sugar, and sugar, and sugar. Although he supposed he did like duck, and egg sandwiches. Maybe they were alternating. “Did you mean to write _‘fuck off’_ on it?”

Harry was mid-sip when he said it, and nearly aspirated his tea. “I wrote _what?”_ he spluttered.

“You wrote _‘fuck off,’”_ Severus repeated. “You can look, if you like. It’s still there. I’ve no means of taking it down, as I think you know.”

Harry just stared at him for a moment, and then dabbed his mouth with his napkin and got up to see. Severus sat back and watched as he went to the door, opened it, and squawked.

“Fucking hell!” he said, waving his hands and releasing a sprinkle of gold to the floor. “You weren’t kidding!”

“No.”

“My _God._ Break into the Ministry, steal prisoners, destroy a statue, tell the Minister to fuck off? Great first interaction with the new government.” He ruffled his hair in agitation and sat back down. “Are we gonna get arrested?”

“Apparently not,” Severus answered. “In fact, Kingsley didn’t seem particularly disturbed at all, though he said the DMLE was displeased.”  
Harry gaped at him. “They _waited?”_

“Very patiently. They had to, of course. No one but you could release the Aurors.” 

“Oh,” Harry began slowly. “Did I… do that?” 

“Right from the sofa with no trouble at all,” Severus answered. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember, though. You were barely conscious.” 

“Ha. Whoops.” Harry grinned down at his cutlery, looking embarrassed. “Didn’t know my magic was irreversible.” His grin turned into a grimace. “What did Kingsley say about the Malfoys? Did he want them back?”

“I don’t think so, though I assume one or all of us will have to testify on their behalf. I doubt the DMLE will drop the charges easily. Kingsley told me that the arrests were valid, but that he was not consulted. Apparently you were quite right in accusing the Aurors of having been disabled during the war.”

“Those tossers,” Harry muttered. “Couldn’t even throw off an _imperius_ and they think they can come into Hogwarts and cause chaos.” He snorted. “Incompetent bastards.”

“Not everyone is as strong-willed as you are, my love,” Severus answered. “In fact, I do believe it is one of your distinguishing features.”

“Tell that to my _boyfriend,”_ Harry answered. “He’s really forceful with me. Makes me call him _sir,_ you know.”

“Take care to tell your _boyfriend_ if you stop enjoying it,” Severus shot back, and Harry laughed.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “No Azkaban for us, and no immediate threat to Draco. What was the second thing?”

“Well…” Severus folded his hands. “I wanted to discuss your magic. I think you’ll agree that your involuntary outbursts are getting rather worse.”

Harry looked down at the minced food on his plate. “I burned the floor,” he said. 

“Yes.”

“They were going to try to take you,” Harry continued. “I didn’t like it very much.”

“They certainly were going to try. And please, allow me to assure you that watching you simultaneously disarm seventeen Aurors was a truly rapturous experience, and they deserved everything you gave them. My only concern is that you are not fully in control of your power when you are under duress, and I foresee quite a lot of duress in the near future for the both of us.”

 _“‘Duress?’”_ Harry repeated with a frown. “Why? The war is over. Did something happen?”

Severus ignored his last question. “Yes, the war is over, and we won it. But your body is tuned to respond to adrenaline as if the Dark Lord might still appear before you at any moment. It’s a natural reaction - common among survivors of violence of all kinds - and will fade with time. But I am worried that you may inadvertently respond that way to emotional threats before your body has a chance to acclimate to safety. And I know that it is not your preference to destroy when it isn’t necessary.”

“What do you mean by emotional threat?’” Harry asked. “Like an insult? I’m really not that sensitive to insults.”

“Well…” Severus shifted a little in his seat, thinking, _‘the most reviled Professor ever to walk Hogwarts’ hallowed halls.’_ “How did you feel when Minerva implied that our relationship may be due to coercion or magical interference?”

“Not… very good.”

“That is an emotional threat.”

“Hm,” Harry said and swept a fragment of french toast through the puddle of syrup on his plate, but did not put it in his mouth. “So, what? Gonna teach me how to calm down again? Or give me a new trigger point?” He gave Severus a half smile. “Train me to stop making _fire_ every time someone tries to hurt you?”

“Although I find your protectiveness incredibly endearing, yes,” Severus began. “I thought I might make an attempt at training you to confine your immolation to intentional targets only. I daresay I’d be loath to lose it entirely. It’s very… stimulating.”

“Why ‘an attempt?’” Harry asked, patently ignoring his bid to turn the discussion flirtatious. “Think I can’t do it? What is it, some kind of-” He stopped, and his shoulders slumped. “Oh _no,_ is this _Occlumency?”_

“I said _an_ _attempt,_ because I honestly have only the faintest idea of how to go about it,” Severus said, and Harry raised his eyebrows. “Yes, quite rare. You are a unique case, as you well know. But I did think of something last night while you were sleeping, and I’m hoping you will humor me in a bit of experimentation.” 

“Alright…” Harry said, sounding suspicious. “Just don’t make me drink anything gross, ok? I just woke up.”

“It’s not that sort of experimentation,” Severus answered. “Now, how many incidents of accidental magic can you name for me? Aside from your childhood.”

“Oh. Um…” Harry started fidgeting with his food again. “I didn’t mean to do your tables, but you knew that… and… I didn’t mean to break the window in Draco’s cell. Or superheat my trainers.” Severus nodded, but did not speak. “More? Ok… I didn’t know what I was doing with the Shack, does that count? I mean, I guess I meant to do _something,_ but I don’t think I really decided to do that specifically. Oh! And Voldemort’s body. I didn’t _try_ to burn it, it was just on fire. Because… he deserved it.”

“Anything else? Before the battle, perhaps?”

Harry considered. “Well…” he trailed off, and his expression grew distant, and Severus wondered if he was remembering the rain he’d called that night in the grounds. If he wasn’t, Severus certainly wouldn’t bring it up. Better not to remind him of that at all if he could help it.

“Do you remember the fire in my hearth?” he asked instead. “While you were recovering, back at the beginning of last year. I was being too polite and it upset you. You lit the fire consciously, but when you lost your temper, there was a flare. Was that intentional?”

“Oh, yeah. Wow. No. Not intentional.” Harry put down his fork. “Have I done that a lot?”

“There have been a few other incidents, yes,” Severus answered. “But nothing terribly harmful.” He scanned Harry’s expression. “And you’ve never hurt me, if that’s what is going on inside that brain of yours. The worst you’ve done is impress me so deeply that I felt rather faint.” Harry snorted and relaxed minutely. 

“Well… good. I guess. Will you tell me some of the other stuff?”

“I did tell you one,” Seveurs answered. “When we _rennervated_ you in Slughorn’s office, you let out a sort of shockwave. It pushed everyone back.”

“Except for you.”

Severus inclined his head. “Just so. And you’ve broken some china… my mirror… nothing irreparable.”

“Your _mirror?”_ Harry asked, suddenly aghast. “When?”

“I couldn’t say precisely. But it was sometime during our shower after you found your note. It was just a crack. I mended it easily.”

“But… that’s bad luck.”

“Bad luck?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “If you break a mirror, that’s supposed to be seven years of bad luck.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that some sort of muggle superstition?” he asked. “Your mother had some very strange ideas about specific colors of cats.”

“I… hm. Is that not… a Wizard thing? Seven years of bad luck?” 

“...No.”

Harry blushed. “Oh. Well, uh, sorry about your mirror, then.” He took a sip of his tea. “So… what’s the deal? Do I have a leak?”

“A leak?” Severus laughed. “Well, you are unbelievably powerful, and very young, and you are under a continuous and immense amount of pressure and have been for many years. So yes, maybe you have a leak. And if you are unable to control your magic at all times, I will continue to mend things in your wake. However,” he sat back a little in his chair. “You already have a strong foundation in manipulating your magic, and I am confident that you will be able to master it, at least to the point where a shattering orgasm is not literally shattering anything.”

“Ha. What did I shatter last night?”

“Only my preconceived notions about how much love for you I can hold at one time without turning into ash.”

“Oh, very sweet,” Harry countered. “Say something else to distract me from the fact that you’re about to make me do some kind of mad super-advanced Occlumency.” He stabbed a strawberry with his fork and then pointed at him with it. “I am _pants_ at Occlumency, Severus, and you know it.”

“The only thing you are _pants_ at is potions, my beloved,” Severus replied. “And you thought your magical meditation was going to be Occlumency, too, and beyond your reach. Which was obviously severely incorrect, as you have achieved such an advanced state of perfection in that area that you created an entire rainforest.”

“Right, that’s another magical outburst,” Harry said. “Scorching my field to the ground when you left, and then turning it into the bloody Amazon when you came back. Entirely involuntary. I forgot about that.” He sat back mutinously. “Not. On. Purpose.”

“Please, Potter,” Severus answered. “Don’t try to convince me that your magical meditation isn’t blindingly exceptional. Every time you go under you shred the literature.”

“But I didn’t mean to do any of that!” Harry insisted. “How can I be _shredding the literature_ if it just happens by itself? Come on.”

“Just because you are not fully in control of your power - _yet -_ doesn’t mean you won’t ever be,” Severus countered. “Nor does it mean it’s not _yours._ It does no good to pretend that you can’t move mountains. I’ve seen you. Everything you have ever done by accident, or in a moment of turmoil, you are capable of achieving voluntarily. You can access the well of power that flattened the Shack, and you can withhold it, I am absolutely sure. Now,” He folded his arms. “I demand that you acknowledge your excellence so that we can move forward.”

“My _what?”_ Harry asked, annoyed. 

“Your excellence, Potter,” Severus repeated, getting quite annoyed himself. “Acknowledge it.”

Harry scowled at him. “Stop that,” he said. “I’m just me, and I’ve been me the whole time. You used to think I was a _moron.”_

“I stand corrected,” Severus drawled. “You are also _pants_ at evaluating reality and responding accordingly. You are a force of nature, and you’re being willfully obtuse.”

“Obtuse?” Harry demanded, mirroring Severus’ irritated body language. “Pot, KETTLE.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Harry began hotly. “Maybe it means you’re always calling me all these mad names, and showering me with praise, and telling me that I deserve the world and how I’m so precious and powerful and a _demigod_ or whatever, and then you call yourself _an ugly, ratty half-blood,_ and you tell me I’m blind for loving you, like I didn’t _beg for you_ for _weeks_ before you’d even touch me, and you keep acting like you aren’t the fucking sweetest, bravest, most terrifyingly brilliant, overwhelming person on EARTH! And that’s _bullshit,_ so _you_ acknowledge _your_ excellence! You fucking _hypocrite.”_

There was a prickly silence, and Severus narrowed his eyes, wondering if Harry somehow knew what was inside the miniaturized newspaper he had in his back pocket. Quite a targeted rebuttal, in any case.

“Do you mean that?” he asked slowly, and Harry shoved back from the table and stood up.

“Yeah, I do, you OBTUSE _twat.”_ He raised his hands and flopped them back and forth. _“‘Stop looking at me like I’m the northern lights, Harry,’”_ he said, putting on a theatrical scowl. _“‘Stop calling me hot, Harry.’_ Pfft. I’m gonna take a shower. Alone. You can fuck with my magic when I’m done.”

He marched away, and Severus sat still for about four seconds before getting up and going after him. And so, Harry didn’t quite make it to the shower. Severus caught up to him in the bedroom, grabbed him by the hair, and had him right on the floor. 

“So…” Harry said after they were done, drawing nonsense patterns on Severus’ chest with his fingertips. “We got distracted.”

“Yes we did,” Severus agreed, brushing one hand through his hair. “Very predictably distracted.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, and looked up at him. His lip was bleeding afresh, and Severus gently dabbed at it with the pad of his thumb. 

“You are forgiven,” he said.

“Ha.” Harry laid his head into the crook of Severus’ arm and closed his eyes, and for a long moment, did not speak. But then he sighed, his index finger tracing the dip between two of Severus’ ribs. “I love you, you know,” he finally said.

“And I, you,” Severus answered, tilting his head a little to touch their temples together. “More than anything, and more than ever.”

“More than anything, and more than ever…” Harry answered. “Yeah. And… more every day.” Thinking he was finished, Severus kissed his hair. But he wasn’t finished, and he wasn’t just being affectionate, either. “Sometimes it sort of… scares me,” he continued slowly. “It’s almost like… I can’t hold it all. Like it’s too big. And it comes out fire, and explosions, and stuff.” 

“Sometimes it comes out flowers and light,” Severus answered. “And, on at least one occasion, a very unexpected orgasm.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, his breath gusting hot across Severus’ skin. “It’s not always bad stuff, I guess.” He shifted so he could lay his cheek on Severus’ shoulder. “You know… I think that was what caused it the first time, too. When I saw Lupin hurting you, I sort of thought, _‘no, you can’t touch him. He’s mine.’_ But there wasn’t enough time to even think _that_ all the way. More like a really strong feeling of _no._ And then…”

“The rest is history?”

Harry gave a little hum, and spread his palm flat over one of the scars on Severus’ abdomen. “But back then, you weren’t even mine. And it still - it still - _burst_ out of me like that. His hands on you, and all that blood… The mark was still there last time I was in Number Twelve. I saw it. And I didn’t even know I left a mark. I _scorched the floor_ two years ago. Two _years?_ I hardly even knew you. If that happened now I’d probably make a crater.”

“Yes, you left quite a mark,” Severus answered. “And it almost killed you. But you’re wrong on one count, there.” He tucked a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear, and then smoothed his thumb under the edge of his jaw. “Even then, I was already yours. Lupin could see it. That’s why he hit me. And if I hadn’t realized it quite yet, or admitted it to myself, that was my own fault for being so willfully blind. Praying for strength didn’t change the fact that - body, mind, magic and soul - I was property of Prince Potter from the very beginning.”

“That’s… romantic,” Harry said. 

“Is it?” Severus asked. “I found it quite terrifying at the time, and if you hadn’t come back to me in the end, I think it might have been categorized as mental illness.”

“But I did, though.”

“You did,” Severus answered. “Straight from the arms of death, and into mine.” He heaved a great sigh. “And you speak of being unable to contain the magnitude of your feelings? I think that may be the way in which we are most alike. I told you that night on the beach how impossible it was to keep you hidden in my mind. What a wretched struggle it was to cover you with even the most advanced mental wards - even the deepest, most intricate lies. I thought I might break apart trying to bring my love for you to heel. It was like trying to hold back the sea. I shudder to imagine what I might have done - what I might still do - if I had your power. The vengeance I might pursue on your behalf.”

“What sort of vengeance?” Harry asked, snuggling a little closer to him and pushing a wad of clothing out of the way with his foot to intertwine their legs. “Tell me.”

“Shall I make you feel harmless by contrast?” 

“Yes please.” 

“Well, in that case… I would embark on many bloody yet justifiable rampages,” Severus answered lightly. “If one of us is to be trusted with such an excess of magic, it is certainly you. For I would rip Amycus Carrow’s heart still beating from his body for casting the _cruciatus_ on you. I’d sever Dolores Umbridge’s wand hand at the elbow and choke her to death with it. And…” he hesitated, but then went ahead. It would be suspicious to leave them out, even if Harry did not like to speak of them. That, and it was actually something he’d thought about more than once. “I would take Petunia Evans’ scalp,” he continued. “Along with her husband’s and son’s, and I’d raze their hovel to the ground, and preserve the destruction as a memorial to their ignorance and cruelty.”

“Oh, is that all?” Harry asked softly.

“Certainly not,” Severus answered. “Peter Pettigrew stuck a knife in you, and for that I would tear out his spine - if he has one, of course - and then I’d strip the flesh from every Snatcher, and every turned Auror, and every surviving Deatheater, for forcing you into hiding, and I’d build you a house with their bones.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “A house of bones? Sounds drafty.”

“You asked. And in this vengeful fantasy I have your power, so it will only be drafty if I intend it to be drafty. Which I do not.”

“Pragmatic,” Harry said. “Can’t get naked if it’s too cold.”

“Indeed.”

Harry laughed. “You know, I’m starting to think we aren’t a very normal couple.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Severus asked. “Was it the disciplinary hearing?”

“Oh, ha.” Harry sat up. “Well, I guess you can teach me now, if you want. So I don’t, y’know, accidentally make a bone-house out of the next person that tries to insert themselves. Now that you’ve put that idea in my head.”

“Yes, well, I hope to do that,” Severus began, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. “Though you may be overestimating my abilities in that-” Harry pinched him on the thigh. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“For failing to acknowledge your excellence,” Harry answered loftily. “You should stop that. What time is Kingsley supposed to come?”

“Four,” Severus said, propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re meant to meet in Minerva’s office. And _pinching_ is _rude,_ Potter.”

“So is slapping,” Harry answered with a crooked little smile, and Severus looked skyward in a long-suffering sort of way. “We’re just a pair of rude bastards rolling around on the floor and talking about _murder._ Now, do you think we should check on Draco before we get going? He’s probably nervous.”

Severus considered. “It might be more prudent to meet with the Minister first,” he said. “Appear with useful information, instead of just pleasantries.”

“They probably need clothes and stuff.”

“You sent them their wands, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m sure they can make do for a few more hours, at least. Particularly with Kreacher looking after them.” Severus made his way to his feet and then offered his hand. “Come on, Potter, I would like to actually get some work done before we have to present ourselves to any government officials.”

“Fine,” Harry answered, allowing Severus to haul him to his feet. “But it’s not my fault we got distracted. You’re so hot when you’re pissed off I can hardly think straight.”

Severus opened his mouth to protest - to say something about _Harry_ being the one with the incredibly appealing rage, possibly - but then he closed it again, and scowled. “Was that a test?” he asked, and Harry’s eyes crinkled. 

“Oh, he’s learning,” he said, and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Severus on the cheek. “Should we get dressed or just stay naked until four?”

“Better dress,” Severus answered, brushing Harry’s fringe back from his forehead. “Lest I become _distracted_ again and run out of vital life force.”

They did get dressed, and then Harry led him by the hand back into the living room and plopped down on the sofa. “I think I will send Draco a note,” he said, tucking his legs underneath himself. “Just in case he’s worried. And he probably doesn’t know about that Dumbledore dust-ghost thing in the entry, either. Almost gave me a bloody heart attack the first time I saw it.” He held out his hands, glared at the scroll that appeared between them, and then vanished it again. “Ok. What are we doing?”

“Experimenting, as I said,” Severus answered, sitting beside him and crossing his legs. “I thought we might begin with the guided relaxation, and move from there.”

“I can do that myself,” Harry answered. “I did it almost every day while you were gone. I don’t need a guide.”

“I know that,” Severus said. “But I want to try something a bit different. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll think of something else.” He hoped it would work, though, and he had a feeling that if Harry trusted him enough, it would. Just like the first time Severus talked Harry down into his magic. Utter surrender - so deep, so fast, that he’d summoned a transparent butterfly mere moments after being introduced to the _concept_ of the field. He’d trusted Severus then, and he trusted Severus now, and his trust was so complete that he’d allowed Severus to take away his eyes and ears, and his hands, and his very _breath._ He allowed Severus to break him open and wallow in his most secret places, and it was Severus he retreated to when he was most in need, and Severus’ comfort he craved in the dark. His trust was absolute, though Severus could hardly believe it even now. 

Which would probably get him another pinch. 

“May I?”

“Yeah, ok.” 

Harry closed his eyes, and there on the sofa, Severus led him through the progressive relaxation, and the breathing, and counting, just like he had that first time. And Harry indulged him, moving slowly, stagewise, at his word, even though they both knew perfectly well that he’d spent hours upon hours in this state, and had, in fact, taken Severus’ initial instructions and elevated them beyond all expectations. But Harry did as he was told, slowing his breathing and his heart rate, and when Severus held him suspended in that state and did not move further, Harry obeyed, and waited for direction. 

“Very good,” Severus said, his voice low and even. “You have walked this path hundreds of times, and you know what to do. As you are feeling your breath, and heartbeat, and the air on your skin, feel for your magic. The threads of power, woven through your tissues, permeating your body. Every cell, every atom, containing it’s magical core, responding to your will. Drawing in, as your breath draws in. The riptide of your magic retreating. Coalescing in your spine. Feeling that movement, as specifically as you can, in as much of your body as you can.” He paused, watching Harry’s slow, deep breaths, and imagining him sitting placidly on his little bunk in his tent, or on the floor in his relative’s awful house, retreating from the world in just this way. Into his private sanctuary, where no one could touch him, or hurt him, or leave him. “There is the door. The brightest place. Do you see it?” Harry nodded very slowly, his eyes resting closed. “Good. Now, we are not going through. Instead, just witness the light. All your power packed into that portal. Can you make it any smaller? Not a doorway, or even a window. Just a speck, holding all your magic. A tiny jewel. A shard of glass. Too small even to see through. You might hold it in your hand, or on the tip of a quill. As small as you can make it, and as deep inside as you can pull it. A pin-prick of light, like a distant star.” 

He waited for a slow, silent count of ten - as Harry’s eyes moved beneath his eyelids - and then began lifting him out. Releasing his magic back into his body, and his mind back to full wakefulness. It was easy, and smooth, and practiced, and as Harry blinked and sighed, Severus folded his hands over his knee.

“So,” Harry said slowly. “Blindingly bright grain of sand.” 

“That small? Very good.”

“Gonna tell me why?” 

Severus just regarded him steadily. “Can you guess?” he asked, and Harry’s brow crinkled.

“Oh…” he began. “But… I thought… that was just symbolic. Like… a visualization thing to help me relax. I’m actually moving my magic around when I do that? Physically?”

“The word ‘physically’ can not easily be applied to magic. As I said, it was just an idea. And now we must test it, and see if I am, in fact, as ground-breakingly intelligent as I have always hoped to be.”

“Oh pff,” Harry said. “I _knew_ this was going to be advanced. You and your advanced magical mind control stuff.”

“I wouldn’t scoff at my _‘advanced magical mind control stuff,’_ Harry,” Severus answered. “It kept me alive. And we’ll start small, in any case. No need to try to withhold an explosion or anything of that kind.”

“No traumatizing _legilimency,_ though, right?” 

“No, none of that. I promised.”

“Ok.”

***

Draco wandered back downstairs sometime in the very late morning. Kreacher had set him up in Regulus’ old room, which was rather bizarrely papered with old newspaper clippings about the Dark Lord under a huge Black Family Crest, which was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It was extravagantly painted, and emblazoned with the motto, _‘Toujours Pur,’_ which he thought was pretty ironic. Particularly considering that the Black family name was now extinct, and carried on only in himself - the only son of a Black who would certainly be considered a traitor - and his baby cousin, whose father was a werewolf. _‘Always Pure,’_ indeed. 

There had been fresh clothes folded on the foot of his bed when he woke up - that time a sort of tunic and soft trousers - but he’d languished in the blankets for a long time, just burrowing into the relative warmth, comfort, and lack of Dementors, and trying not to think of much at all. He was pretty successful, too, until the smell of cooking finally lured him up and into his clothes. He hadn’t eaten anything at all at the Ministry, of course, though he had been provided some sort of slop, and despite the multiple servings of excellent risotto he’d inhaled the night before, he was hungry. So he got dressed and went in search of the source of the aroma, and then stopped almost immediately on the landing as voices drifted up from elsewhere in the house. 

Two voices. His mother, and… someone else. Not Kreacher, though. A woman. 

He crept down the stairs, his feet bare and his wand in his hand.

_“Tell me, Narcissa, how fares your husband?”_

_“Oh, he’s quite dead.”_ _  
__“Is he? My condolences.”_

_“That’s not necessary, Aunty. The old guard lost the war quite badly. I’m lucky to have my head.”_

_“What? Impossible! The blood-traitors have triumphed?”_

Aunty?

Draco followed the voices into the hall, and when he turned the final corner, he found his mother standing before a life-sized portrait of a very forbidding-looking woman wearing a black cap. He recognized her, too. It was his great-aunt Walburga Black, immortalized in paint.

“Oh, yes,” Narcissa answered. “The blood-traitors absolutely crushed the Dark Lord and his soldiers. Bella is dead as well, and many others. It was inevitable, I’m afraid. They were severely outclassed.” 

“Mother?” Draco asked, padding up behind her. 

“Oh, Draco, darling, you’re awake! I was just about to send Kreacher up for you.” She turned back to Walburga. “This is my son, Draco. Handsome, isn’t he?” 

The portrait looked appraisingly at him, her nose wrinkling in a way that made Draco wish he had shoes on. “He looks well-bred enough,” she said. “Are those my son’s clothes?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Draco answered, picking at his shirt a bit under her cutting gaze. “We didn’t have anything to wear.”

“Arrested, you know,” Narcissa added airily, patting her own frock, that day a robin’s-egg- blue monstrosity with french sleeves. 

“Tell me, young man, have you chosen a suitable pure-blood bride?” Walburga demanded. “You mustn’t wait until you’re too old, you know. It is up to the next generation to uphold our traditions and culture. A Travers, perhaps? Or a Selwyn?” She raised her painted eyebrows, which were plucked and filled into extravagant arches.

“Oh, no,” Narcissa answered before Draco could so much as formulate a response. “He’s a homosexual. I’ve known since he was seven.”

“He’s a _WHAT?”_ Walburga shrieked, and Narcissa started cackling. “A _homosexual?_ You bring filth like that into our family? You _dare_ permit your SON to LIVE as such an IMMORAL STAIN on the SACRED HOUSE OF MY FATHERS? _SCUM! SCUM and DISHONOR! SHAME brought on by a TAINTED WOMB!”’_

“My goodness,” Narcissa laughed as Draco backed away. “It’s a new world, you mad old thing.” She waved her wand, closing the heavy hangings around the enraged portrait. 

“Mother _… why?”_ Draco moaned as muffled ranting continued to issue from behind the velvet.

_“-a disgrace! The destruction of the family name! Scum! Shame! The end of-”_

“Such a nasty woman,” Narcissa said. “Even while she was alive. Shall we? I believe Kreacher is preparing brunch for you, my beloved layabout.” She glided away, and Draco followed in her wake, glancing back at the hangings with a grimace as the word _‘sodomy’_ drifted out. “Oh, and speaking of homosexuals,” Narcissa continued pleasantly. “A note arrived for you.”

“A note?” Draco asked. “How? Did an owl come?”

“Oh, no, it appeared out of thin air. From Mr. Potter, I assume. Due to the uncommon method of delivery. Here.” She held out a folded sheet of parchment, and Draco took it. 

> _Draco,_
> 
> _We’re meeting with the Minister this afternoon. Will send word after. It’s safe where you are. The wards are strong. Send Kreacher if you need anything._
> 
> _-H & S _
> 
> _P.s. Don’t go near the front door. There are loads of curses on it. Also the portrait in the hall is mean and loud._

Draco read it twice, and then looked up at his mother. “Ruby inlay, you said?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! These comments are all awesome 
> 
> p.s. if you haven't checked out my Pacify Interludes, please do!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786204


	15. Tabloid Rubbish

It took Harry a while to correctly access the  _ drawing in  _ sensation that he found so easy when under his hypnosis, and, in the end, it was fire which helped him to understand, as it had been in the beginning. Harry, it seemed, had some innate affinity with fire, and so, after a few failed attempts to create something less destructive and withdraw it, resulting in quite a pile of random objects and plant life, Severus directed him to produce a flame in his cupped hand and, holding it there, to pull it back into his body.

Harry put it out.

“No, don’t extinguish it,” Severus corrected.  _ “Absorb _ it.”

“Absorb it?” Harry asked, sounding for all the world like that was impossible, even as he summoned another disembodied candle flame in his naked palm. “But… I’ll burn myself.”

He did burn himself. Twice. And he put the flame out twice, and then the fifth time, just when he was starting to get very frustrated, the little fire sank into his skin like honey into tea.

“That’s it!” Severus gasped, pointing at his empty hand in excitement. “That was it!”

Harry frowned at his palm, and then at Severus. “You really didn’t expect it to work, did you?” 

“Oh.” Severus cleared his throat. “No. It’s just… the thrill of discovery. Now, again.”

Harry did it again, and again, and by early afternoon, he was freezing bolts of lightning half-way out of his hands and drawing them back in. Which hurt a little bit, or so he said. 

“Lets try something less dangerous, then. Now that you’ve got the general idea. Water, perhaps?”

“Can I try flowers again? That way, if I can’t take them back it won't be…” He looked askance at the scattering of stones and cactus roses and ribbons and ivy and general detritus under their feet. “A big wet mess.”

“Whatever you like,” Severus answered, and sat and watched as Harry sprayed a cloud of petals out of his hands, sucked them right back in again, and laughed in delight. 

“I’m like a magic hoover!” 

“What is a ‘hoover?’” Severus asked. 

“What’s a hoover?” Harry laughed again. “I thought your dad was a muggle.”

“He was.”

“Well, a hoover is a muggle thing. For cleaning. Sucks up dirt.” He looked at his palms. “They’re really loud.”

“My father hardly did the housework,” Severus answered. “And keep in mind that this will likely be much harder when you’re upset.”

“Ok,” Harry said. “Upset me.”

Severus pursed his lips. “I think we might be better served waiting for a natural occurrence of  _ upset,”  _ he began carefully. “You don’t need anything artificial in this climate.”

“That’s not what you said when you taught me my point. You said it’s better to try it in a controlled environment, where you can watch me.” He paused. “But what you really meant was that something horrible was going to happen soon and you wanted to get ahead of it.” He produced a ball of light and tossed it to his other hand, absorbed it, and then looked up at him expectantly.

“...Did I?” Severus asked. 

“Yeah, you did,” Harry answered casually. “And you’re doing that right now. So, are you gonna tell me why, or are we playing games?”

“Isn’t what you did at the ministry enough of a reason?”

“It would be,” Harry answered. “If it was the reason. But it's not. I can tell.” He summoned another ball of light and squeezed it into two, rolling the pair of them between his fingers like shooter marbles. Watching his fidgeting, Severus wondered if they were hot, or if it was the sort of material his barriers were made of. They were that same shimmering gold. “It’s something else,” Harry continued. “Something happened while I was sleeping, or at the Ministry but I didn’t notice, and that’s why you decided to try to teach me this now, because you’re afraid that when I find out, I’ll explode.” He balanced one of the balls on the tip of his finger. “Right?”

“I see that your incisive intuition was not due to wartime stressors,” Severus said with a sigh. 

“What happened?” Harry asked again. “Just tell me, ok? You have a plan. It's obvious. And I don’t really…” He trailed off and the light vanished again, freeing his hands to rub his eyes under his spectacles. “I don’t really…”

“You don’t really want to be part of any more plans?” Severus offered. 

“Yeah.” Harry drew up his knees and hugged them. “And please, for the love of God, no surprises.” He gave Severus a weak smile. “Ok?”

Severus shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid… I cannot shield you from all surprises,” he began slowly. “After everything I’ve done, and what we did at the Ministry, we will likely be at the mercy of the Wizengamot. And I’m sure they will have many interesting things to say about me. I’ve been tried before, you know. Albus’ testimony kept me out of Azkaban, and barely. I’d hate for you to… overreact to my… history.” He paused again, and in his pause, Harry’s shoulders tensed, and he squeezed his knees in tight, and Severus knew that body language very well. Harry thought he was trying to distract him, which he certainly was. “You think I’m deflecting.” 

“You are,” Harry answered. “I can see it.”

“And I used to be a spy,” Severus chuckled, though it sounded quite unconvincing to his own ears, and when he said it Harry’s posture took on a still steeper dejected curve like he was trying to shrink himself down to nothing. So Severus stopped, and opened his hands. He’d promised himself no more lies, and he’d promised Harry no more lies. No more lies. He should have known Harry would see right through him. “Alright, I’m sorry,” he said. “I  _ was _ trying to deflect, because this is going to upset you. But it’s petty. Meaningless. Just very… offensive.” Harry raised his eyebrows, and Severus steeled himself. Better to say it straight out instead of mucking about. He took a breath. “We’re in the paper. Yesterday’s edition of the Prophet. The coverage is negative, and there are some… caricatures. I didn’t want you to see it quite yet.”

“Negative how?” Harry asked slowly.

“Well, it seems the general populace is disturbed by the incredibly unlikely fact that you seem to be genuinely enamored with me.”

“I think you mispronounced ‘in love,’” Harry said shortly. “And I’ll pinch you again.”

“I am speaking from the perspective of the unwashed masses, do forgive me. And it’s nothing I didn’t expect, really. Just… rather faster. There are statements from the Governors.”

“The Governors,” Harry repeated blankly. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Unfortunately, I am not.”

“Do you have it?” 

“Yes,” Severus answered. “I took it from the security station at the Ministry. The guard was reading it, which was likely why he reacted so violently to the sight of me. Apparently I am controlling you.”

“Let me see it.”

“I… don’t think that’s wise,” Severus began. “It’s nothing. Just a tabloid.”

“Severus,” Harry said, a small note of warning in his voice. “Give it to me.” He held out his hands. “If it’s about me, I deserve to see it.”

“It’s primarily about me, which is why I think you will react… poorly. We’ve only just begun practicing…” Severus trailed off as Harry just stared him down and kept his hands extended without speaking. He looked quite immovable. “Fine,” Severus sighed. “But if you must see it, I want you to promise me you’ll use it to test withdrawing your magic.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Very efficient. I promise. Now give me the fucking paper.”

“I will,” Severus insisted. “But not here. My successor will need these rooms, and I’d hate to add to Minerva’s workload by allowing you to destroy them.” He stood up and offered his arm. “Perhaps you might rudely side-along me to the grounds with little to no notice? The edge of the forest would be a good choice. Not much for you to damage out there.”

“Oh, pfft,” Harry said, standing up and taking his elbow. “How bad can it be? I held it together alright at the Ministry, didn’t I? And that was a  _ real threat,  _ not an  _ emotional threat.” _

“All things considered, yes,” Severus allowed. “Although you d-”

They appeared out past the lake near the trees, and he nearly fell over. “Harry!”

“What?” Harry asked. “You said rudely.”

Severus scoffed. “Your charm knows no bounds.” He got his bearings and looked around. They were out of sight of the castle, near the trees, just as he’d requested. It may have even been the same section of the grounds that had once held Harry’s circle of wildflowers, though it was hard to tell after so long. “I suppose this will do,” he said, sat cross-legged on a flat section of grass and gestured for Harry to join him. “I warn you, though. If you get too upset and knock yourself unconscious, I will  _ rennervate  _ you. Our meeting is in two hours and it would be so rude to keep the Minister waiting.”

“Oh, very kind,” Harry answered. “Stop stalling and let me read it. I’ve been in the paper loads of times, and it’s never been much fun. I’m such a tragic, heroic figure. Slash liar. Slash attention-seeking lunatic. Slash renegade terrorist. Slash…”

“Sexual slave?” Severus supplied, withdrew the paper, tapped it with his wand, and held it up for Harry to see. Harry’s eyes twitched over the cover, and widened.

“What,” he whispered. 

“Yes.”

“But… what the fuck? You didn’t do that. And you don’t… we don’t look like… Who did this?” He reached out, but Severus withdrew it. 

“Listen to me,” he said. “It gets much worse. Let me see you draw your magic in one more time.” Absently, and with no apparent effort, Harry conjured a fresh flame and then reabsorbed it into his hand, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the headline. And that was more than Severus could have hoped for, really. “Very well. Have at it. ” Harry snatched the paper, wrenched it open, and gasped in horror. “Yes. Offensive, as I said.”

“Ok, what the fuck is this?” Harry demanded in outrage. “Who wrote this? Why did they make you look like that? You look like the grim reaper!  _ ‘Defenders of Hogwarts Shocked?’  _ My God. This is  _ bullshit.  _ Who is that fainting? Why are you so  _ bloody?” _

“It’s alright,” Severus said. “It’s just a newspaper. Petty rubbish, like I said. Try to feel your magic. Any disturbances?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but he did leap to his feet.

“What the FUCK!” he gasped again, his face buried in the article.  _ “‘Severus Snape, thirty-eight, has always been considered a dark figure at Hogwarts School.’  _ Why do they keep saying your age like that? This is fucking -  _ ‘Deatheater from the age of seventeen, he was valued above all by He Who Must Not Be Named for his expertise is will-bending -’  _ Who wrote this, Rita Skeeter?” He flipped back to the cover, shrieked in fury, and a fizz of embers shot from his fingertips where they were clutching the newsprint. Severus stood up, too.

“Harry,” he said. “You’re sparking.”

“This lying BITCH!” Harry snarled.  _ “‘A connoisseur of the worst kinds of - taking ADVANTAGE OF A-’”  _

“I think that’s enough,” Severus said, reaching to take the paper back, but Harry darted away. “Harry-”

“Oh my GOD these _interviews,”_ he hissed as Severus chased after him. _“‘No question in my mind, Severus Snape deserves a life sentence for VIOLATING that precious BOY?’_ Who the fuck said this? _ANONYMOUS?”_ Severus made another grab for the paper, and Harry spun in a circle to evade him. “BACK OFF, SEVERUS! I’m _FINE.”_

“Harry, please,” Severus tried again. “It’s just attention-seeking pulp. Try to remember what we-” There was an odd crunching sensation under his feet, and he looked down to see that Harry was leaving a trail of dry, dead grass in his wake. But it was more than that. A circle of the destruction was crawling out from underneath his trainers like spilled paint, and it wasn’t burned like the floor at the Ministry, either. It was just dead, like the groundwater had been salted, or contaminated with some disease. And that was… a little more than he’d honestly been expecting. Exploding glassware? Yes. Scorching heat? Yes. A plague? ...No. 

Maybe the lack of a physical adversary to overcome was making it worse. No Dark Lord, no cowering Grant, no way to protect anyone, and no one to punish. Just the nebulous fury with no target. Or, at least, not one Harry could see. 

“Harry, love,” he said as calmly as he could manage, holding out his hands as Harry continued to pace back and forth, his feet shriveling the grass with every step. “You’re making blight. Take a deep breath and give me the paper.” 

But Harry did not seem interested in containing his magic, taking a deep breath, or relinquishing the Prophet. He was only interested in the audacity of Rita Skeeter, and the quoted Governors.

“This fucking  _ RUBBISH! ‘A man like that, old enough to be his father? He must be sick, or under a curse, or-’  _ How dare these- these-” He broke off, strangled by his own anger, his eyes wide and scanning the text at top speed. “WHO THE FUCK IS PATRICK AYNSLEY?” he finally burst out, violently turning the page.  _ “‘Anyone that thinks that relationship is consensual is out of their gourd,’”  _ he read furiously.  _ “‘Wizard like that, so adept at dark magic? Please.’”  _ His eyes jumped down a few lines.  _ “‘There was a hearing last Christmas for INAPPROPRIATE CONDUCT with a STUDENT. He got off scott-free. Unbelievable - master of Occlumency - trained at the Dark Lord’s knee - how we could have swallowed his lies-’”  _ He stopped again, looked up, and the paper burst into flames in his hands. “If you go to Azkaban I will  _ liquify  _ EVERY FUCKING  _ AUROR IN THIS COUNTRY!” _

“I won't,” Severus said. “I won’t go to Azkaban. Kingsley assured me of that, and he’s the Minister. This is just sensationalist nonsense, written to sell more issues. Now come here and let me help you.” 

“NO!” Harry shouted. “Didn’t you see those _pictures?_ They made you look like a PREDATOR! It was on _PURPOSE!”_

“It’s just a political cartoon. No one takes the Prophet seriously anymore. It doesn’t matter. Your magic-”

“It MATTERS!” Harry raked both hands through his hair, smearing his face with ashes. “They want to separate us just like everyone else! After everything we’ve been through, the HEARING is in the fucking  _ newspaper?  _ RITA  _ SKEETER _ knows about the  _ HEARING?”  _ He let out a scream of rage. “I swear to GOD the  _ next person that calls you a  _ RAPIST is going to end up a  _ skeleton.” _

Behind Harry’s head, the black blight was crawling up the bark of the trees like gangrene, and Severus made a decision. Harry either didn’t realize what he was doing, or did not know how to withhold it, and he was not going to stop by himself. 

He seized Harry’s shoulders and squeezed hard. 

“Harry, stop,” he said firmly. “You’re-”

“Get OFF,” Harry snarled, trying to twist away, but Severus did not release him. Instead, Severus gave him a sharp shake.

“Stop struggling, and  _ listen!  _ You’re _ killing the grass.  _ Listen to what I’m saying to you. You’re angry and it’s  _ killing the grass.” _

“I’m FINE,” Harry repeated, incensed by being restrained. “Let  _ GO.  _ I’m FINE. I’m just-” He broke off, looked down at their feet, and jerked out of Severus’ hands. “Oh  _ shit-” _ he yelped. “What is that?” He stumbled back until he hit one of the trees, holding out his hands. “What is that? Is that coming out of me?” A sprinkle of dead leaves fell down onto him and he gasped in terror and started batting them off. “Fuck! What the FUCK-”

“HARRY,” Severus barked, grabbing the front of his shirt and pinning him to the tree. “Look at me. You’re alright, but you need to pull your magic back in. Feel it, and absorb it. You know how. You showed me you can do it.” Harry squeaked, and his pupils dilated in fear, and Severus took hold of his head in both hands, forcing him to make eye contact. “LOOK AT ME. FOCUS, Harry.  _ Control it. Pull it in. Tiny spark. Grain of sand. NOW.” _

Harry cried out under his hands - a thin, terribly frail sound that might have been more at home in a hospice - and his shoulders curled forward, and his eyes squeezed tight shut, and then, quite abruptly, his knees buckled. It reminded Severus of the Shack, which he did not like at all, but as he took some of Harry’s weight, he could feel that he hadn’t fainted. He was still standing, if barely, and when Severus chanced a look back at the ground, he saw that the circle of death had slowed to a stop. 

“Alright,” he exhaled, relaxing his grip, and Harry sagged forward and buried his face with a shallow whimper. “It’s alright. It’s stopped. You stopped it.”

“Oh, god,” Harry breathed into his chest. “I’m sorry. I - didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Severus answered, stroking one hand into his hair. “I know you didn’t. But that was excellent, Harry. What a good boy to control it so quickly.” Harry’s hands came up to clutch at the back of his shirt, so he said it again. “What a good boy.”

“Ouch,” Harry whispered. “That - was - way harder than I thought it would be. What was I even doing?” He turned his head to peek at the ground around them. “What is that?” He started to shake. “What is it?”

“It’s just your magic,” Severus answered, which was really all he could think of to say. He didn’t know what it was. Just… rage? “I knew you’d be angry. I did. But it was just your magic, and we can fix it, like my mirror. You haven’t hurt me, or anyone else. Just a bit of grass.” He looked up at the trees. They were black and dead on the side facing them, but otherwise still green. A neat line, straight up into the branches. Rather like they’d been broiled, really. Broiled in the fire of Harry’s wrath at reading the words  _ Severus Snape deserves a life sentence.  _ “Breathe, now. Breathe. You didn’t hurt anyone.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, unlocking his fingers from Severus’ clothes and drawing his arms in to press his trigger point. “Jesus. I - really - lost my temper.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed. “You certainly did.” He pulled him off of the tree and more fully into his embrace. “I shouldn’t have given it to you all at once.” He should have clipped out bits at a time, that’s what he should have done. One picture at a time, and one horrific accusation at a time. Alas, he was still making mistakes. But he knew how to fix some of them, and so he simply stood there and held him until the trembling stopped. It took a while, but Severus was used to that, and Harry didn’t cry. He didn’t collapse or get sick either, and when he finally lifted his head, Severus was relieved and disconcerted in equal measure to see that his eyes were clear and bright. That didn’t seem to have been very much of his power at all, which was both balm to his anxiety and a source of true and genuine terror. 

“Are you in pain at all?” he asked, brushing a smudge of soot off of Harry’s cheek.

“No,” Harry answered with a small shake of his head. “It hurt a bit when I pulled it in, but now I just feel sort of… embarrassed.” 

“No need to be embarrassed,” Severus answered. “You did very well. Can you describe the pain?”

“Um…” Harry took a deep, steadying breath, and then let it out very slowly. “Kind of like drinking something way too hot, I guess. Like it’s burning your mouth, and instead of spitting it out, you swallowed it.” He rested his cheek back onto Severus’ chest and looked down again. “Jeez,” he said. 

“Yes,” Severus agreed. 

“Good thing you took me outside, huh?” Harry continued, and then pulled away from Severus’ arms. “What even…?” He crouched down to inspect the blighted grass, but when he tried to pick a single blade, it crumbled into dust between his fingers. A fine greyish powder, sprinkling back down to the ground. “Severus?” he finally asked.

“Yes, love?”

“I’m really dangerous, aren’t I?” 

“You are.” 

“I could have killed all those Aurors,” he continued softly, brushing his hand across the ground, breaking the tips off of the fragile grass. “Just… killed them all. For taking Draco. And for… looking at you that way.” 

“You could have,” Severus said. “But you didn’t.” And then Harry looked up at him, and his eyes jumped to the forest, and the color drained from his face.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. “The trees.”

Severus turned around. “No, Harry, they’re not dead-” he began, but Harry was already on his knees, both hands braced on the ravaged ground and his face twisted in concentration, and Severus let his reassurance drop as a fresh flood of magic poured out of him. It didn’t matter what he’d done to the trees, because he was healing them now. The ground, too, of course, and as new leaves uncurled from the bare branches, and infant sprouts reached upwards towards the sun, Harry sat heavily down into the lush, green grass and covered his face with his hands.

“I’m a weapon,” he said, and Severus knelt down behind him at once. 

“No,” he answered, pulling Harry unresisting into his lap. “No, Harry.”

“I am,” Harry repeated. “That’s what Dumbledore wanted me for. And… and… that’s what they called me. The Order. Back before I was taken to Grimmauld Place. They said Voldemort was looking for a weapon, and it was me. It was the prophecy… about me. And… now I’m like this.” He looked at his hands like he wanted to hack them right off of his wrists, and Severus sighed. Whoever had said that where Harry could hear was truly a fool. 

“Well, firstly Harry,” he began, wrapping his arms more tightly around him. “You are a _person,_ not an _object,_ no matter what Albus or anyone else has intimated to you. But if you insist on being given the label of an object, I would say that you are a shield. Every Wizard can destroy. Every Wizard can kill. Those abilities are not unique. Show me another man or woman that can block the killing curse, though, hm?” Harry made a skeptical sort of huffing sound, and Severus squeezed him. “Odd sort of weapon that can heal the mortally wounded, too. Very impractical. And, if you recall, we violated that hideous prophecy.”

Harry lifted his head. “We didn’t,” he said. 

“Yes we did,” Severus countered. “I was born in January. January the ninth, to be exact. Hardly  _ ‘as the seventh month dies.’  _ And I killed the Dark Lord, not you.”

“I’m pretty sure the prophecy said  _ vanquish  _ not  _ kill.”  _

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Severus said. “Does  _ disarming, incapacitating,  _ and  _ humiliating  _ count as  _ vanquishing _ these days?” Harry glared at him, and that was better. No more blank expression. 

“Uh,  _ yes?”  _ he said.

_ “Details,”  _ Severus scoffed, and Harry scoffed, but then he looked confused.

“Wait,” he said. “Your birthday is January the ninth?”

“Yes.”

“But - then… We were together both years.” Harry turned around in his lap. “I was with you on your birthday two years in a row and you never said anything. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Severus looked skeptically at him. “Why didn’t I tell you it was my birthday?” he asked. 

“Yeah. I could have, I don’t know. Made you something.”

“Harry, you were recovering from an overdose when I turned thirty-seven - an overdose on potions  _ I  _ gave you, mind - and when I turned thirty-eight, you were quite justifiably unhappy with me for a completely unrelated reason. It didn’t seem appropriate either time. And I am not a very enthused celebrator of birthdays, in any case.”

“I owe you some gifts,” Harry said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus answered. “I have never given you a birthday gift either. I think it might be appropriate to start fresh at this point.”

“Well  _ my  _ birthday is July thirty-first,” Harry said. “Which you already know. And that means you gave me Dreamless Sleep. And  _ that _ is a gift.”

Three thoughts entered Severus’ head in quick succession, none of which he verbalized. The first was that he’d pinned a fifteen-year-old boy to a table. Which, of course, he must have already known, though somehow he hadn’t ever thought it explicitly before. Possibly because he’d been quite unjustifiably confident in his self control at the time, so whether or not having Harry in his bed was unethical or  _ illegal _ hadn’t seemed terribly important. Thank God Remus hadn’t deigned speak to the press. Though, of course, Harry had been found in his bed in August, which meant he’d been ‘safely’ sixteen while Severus was rubbing off on him. 

His second thought was to wonder if  _ that _ thought made him a pervert, or if matching Patronuses made it not perverted. Was it his fault his soulmate was a teenager?

Probably.

His third and final thought was that Harry seemed alright, and that was good. 

“We have many birthdays ahead of us,” was what he said instead of any of those things. “And I look forward to celebrating yours out of hiding.” 

“Me too,” Harry sighed. “But not if it’s gonna be in the paper with a bunch of mean drawings.” He rested his forehead on Severus’ shoulder and groaned. “I can’t  _ believe _ Rita Skeeter had all those quotes from the Governors lined up. She must have known about that for ages and just been  _ sitting  _ on it waiting for the worst possible moment. God. How she could possibly still want to torture me after what we… what we…” He trailed off, and looked up, a sudden and vindictive light in his eyes. “Severus.”

“What?” Severus asked, startled by his sudden shift in mood. “What kind of expression is  _ that?” _

“I have something to tell you about Rita Skeeter.” 

***

“You  _ blackmailed her?” _

“Yep,” Harry answered. “Well, Hermione did, anyway. She was the one that figured it out. And after all those mad stories Rita wrote, she definitely deserved it. But  _ this?”  _ He rubbed his hands together, looking at the ash clinging to his palms. “I can’t believe she would  _ dare.  _ In fact…” He clapped once, and the ashes reconstituted themselves back into the paper, whole and undamaged,  _ Rita Skeeter _ byline and all. “I think she has a death wish.” He reopened the paper to page two, and pointed to the line about will-bending potions. “Because she either believes her own lies, or she wants to die.”

“But… you gave that interview for the Quibbler, didn’t you?” Severus asked. “I thought she must have, I don’t know, offered to set the record straight after realizing how incorrect her reporting was.”

“Of her own free will?” Harry asked skeptically. “No way. Hermione had her dangling. And I mean  _ by the ankles.  _ She didn’t have a choice.”

“Are you suggesting  _ we _ blackmail her?” 

“Not necessarily,” Harry answered. “I mean… I can either tell Kingsley about her illegal powers this afternoon and send her to prison, or I could…” 

“...Blackmail her,” Severus finished for him, and Harry’s lips twitched.

“Yeah. Or that.”

Severus looked critically at him. “The Sorting Hat really did try to put you in Slytherin, didn’t it?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry answered. “Did you think that was a lie?”

Severus rather had thought that. He frowned. “I only thought… you might have wanted to… endear yourself to me.”

“Endear myself?” Harry asked with a laugh. “You’d already sucked me off when I told you that.”

“And it was quite worth it,” Severus answered briskly. “And so is being savagely dragged by the tabloids. I know it upsets you when people accuse me, but if you think I care one whit about my reputation when I have you to come home to, you are doomed to disappointment.” He pulled the paper out of Harry’s hands, cupped the back of his head, and kissed him. “The only opinion that matters is yours, and you already know I was a contemptible Deatheater, and as far as I can tell, you don’t seem terribly bothered.”

“I’m not bothered,” Harry answered. “And you aren’t drugging me into submission, either.”

“Anymore,” Severus countered.

“Oh,  _ that’s  _ what we should do. Tell the newspaper that you only drugged me to try to keep me off of you.” His eyes sparkled. “And that it didn’t work.”

“I’m sure that would go over swimmingly,” Severus answered. “And that you wouldn’t have to rescue me from a pitchfork-wielding mob at all. Oh, and speaking of pitchforks, Did you notice the conspicuous lack of comment from your great defender? Or was your rage-skimming too fast to catch that?”

“I… no,” Harry said slowly. “Who?”

Severus opened the paper again and pointed out the passage about Remus. “Apparently he was unwilling to reopen old wounds,” he said. 

“Huh,” Harry answered. “I hope he slammed the door right in her face.”

“That’s just what I thought.”

***

Quarter of four that afternoon found Harry pulling on his trainers to meet with the Minister. He’d showered and changed, and while he’d been thusly occupied, Severus had spent a while tending to the wound on his arm. It was scabbed over and hideous, and he applied some salve to it before bandaging it back up again. He was quite sure that if Harry saw it like that he’d insist on vanishing it, which Severus wouldn’t allow, so better for him not to see it until it was at least not so… textured. 

A week or so, maybe. 

“This thing where I can apparate from anywhere to anywhere is pretty convenient,” Harry said, stooping down to do up his laces. “I could have apparated into your bed and then back into Shell Cottage every night.”

“Merlin, imagine the chaos,” Severus answered, leaning against the edge of his dining table and crossing his ankles. “I wouldn’t have been able to maintain my barriers for a single hour.”

“Coulda had a good time though,” Harry answered, and when he glanced up, his gaze snagged on Severus’ boots like fabric on a rose thorn. 

“While I lived,” Severus said, and held out his hand. “Shall we? Or would you like to stay down there?” Harry grinned, blushed, and took his hand. 

“Don’t tease me,” he said. 

“I would never.” Severus pulled him to his feet. “And we’ve no time for that just now, anyway. I am ready to be transported, and the Minister would be so displeased if we stood him up.” 

Harry chuckled and interlaced their fingers, but then paused. “Ok, but… How should I act, do you think?” he asked. “Contrite? Or…”

“Oh, I’d err on the side of contrite. Kingsley seems to be on our side. No need for intimidation.”

“Figured. Precious Potter.”

Severus tugged him in against his chest. “I can’t imagine how I survived being your adversary,” he said. “You are truly a terror.”

“Not right now I’m not,” Harry answered. “Right now I’m  _ vulnerable.” _

“Vulnerable and harmless.”

They vanished.

  
  



	16. The Letter of the Law

“Good afternoon Harry, Severus,” Minerva said tartly, holding the door open for them. “I see you are both unhurt by your… excursion…” Her eyes flicked over Harry’s face, and a tiny crinkle of worry creased her brow. “Has someone hit you?”

“Hi, Professor,” Harry said brightly. “What, this?” He gestured to his cut lip. “No. I  _ apparated _ weird and walked into a door. Super embarrassing.”

“Good afternoon, Minerva,” Severus broke in, issuing Harry into the office in front of him before she could verbally express the skepticism that was on her face. “Always an adventure clinging to Harry’s sleeve.”

“Sorry for dragging you around,” Harry said, and put on a sheepish grin, but it fell again almost at once. And it wasn’t nerves, or the fact that Minerva had transfigured her desk into a table with four chairs in preparation for the meeting that did it, either. There was a wooden crate the size of Aunt Petunia’s stove in one corner, and it appeared to be full to the brim with letters. And that was… too many letters. “Those aren’t for me, are they?” he asked, and then his eyes slid to a second, smaller container beside it. That one was clear - about the size and look of a fish tank - and inside were a quantity of ominously smoking red envelopes. “Uh…”

“Your letters?” Minerva asked. “Yes. Quite a few, as I said, and more every day. And those,” she pointed to the smaller container, “are for Severus. Now, Kingsley is due to arrive by floo shortly. Please sit down.” She gestured to the chairs. 

“But… are those…?” Harry began, and Severus finished for him. 

“Howlers,” he said, as the envelopes, apparently aware of their target arriving in the room, began to ragefully but silently explode. “Excellent. Thank you for containing them, Minerva.” 

“My pleasure.”

Severus pulled out a chair for Harry. “Nothing I didn’t expect,” he said, and Harry sat down and looked over his shoulder. 

“Well, fuck.”

Severus took the seat next to him. “Indeed.”

“There has been some news coverage,” Minerva added carefully, taking her own place across from them and folding her hands. 

“Yes, we’ve seen it,” Severus said. “Quite a masterful hatchet job, really. I nearly sent  _ myself _ a howler.” But then he turned, too, at an incongruous little rustling sound from Harry’s box. “What is that?”

“Charmed letters,” Minerva answered. “Not to worry, though. They’re just…” She didn’t finish her thought, as one of the envelopes climbed up onto the edge of the crate, and then reached down into the morass with two of it’s corners to help another clamber up beside it. “Well, that’s new. They must know you’re here.”

“Um…” Harry watched, stunned, as the letters gathered their fellows - two dozen or more of the same garish green - and then formed a line on the edge of the box, holding corners, and leapt to the floor all at once like some sort of mass suicide pact. “UM-” He stood up, and then, when the crowd of envelopes began tottering towards him, leapt up onto his chair. “No thank you!”

***

When Kingsley arrived in the fireplace it was to the sight of Harry Potter standing on a table surrounded by a flurry of hopping envelopes, while what seemed to be a glass box of fire vibrated threateningly in the corner. 

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I see you’ve started without me.” 

“Kingsley!” Harry squeaked.

“Good afternoon, Minister,” Severus answered,  _ accioing  _ another group of struggling letters into his hands while Minerva conjured a new magical prison. “It seems Miss Rita Skeeter has been attempting to reach Harry for comment.” He forced his collection into the container, and turned to see one of the remaining free letters peeking at Harry from the chair nearest the fireplace. As much as something without eyes could ‘peek,’ anyway. “Harry,” he began. “Behind you. There’s a-” It launched itself onto Harry’s back, sticking to his shirt like a very large rectangular moth. Harry shrieked.

“Oh SHIT!” He jumped down from the table, trying to slap it away. “Get it off! Get it off! Get it-”

“Allow me,” Kingsley intoned, plucking it from his clothes, and Harry retreated into Severus’ arms.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “I don’t like letters.” He pressed his trigger point. “No more letters, please.”

“I don’t like them much, either,” Severus answered. “Very unpleasant. Excellent job not destroying anything, by the way.” Harry leaned his forehead against Severus’ chest and closed his eyes. 

“Thanks.”

“These might be the most aggressive enchanted envelopes I've ever seen,” Kingsley said, helping Minerva corral the last few into their prison. They closed the top, and the letters started pounding on their magical confines with their corners. “Rita Skeeter, you say? I doubt this is Ministry approved charmwork. I’ll have the CEC have a word with her.”

“Do,” Severus said, and Harry opened his mouth, but Severus gave him a squeeze, and a meaningful expression, and he closed it again. 

“Yeah,” Harry finally said. “She’s… annoying.”

“Yes, she certainly is,” Severus said, and sat Harry back down in his chair before taking his own. “Quite a nuisance.” He crossed his legs, and when Harry offered his hand, interlaced their fingers. Kingsley did not so much as bat an eyelash at that, however. He just sat down too, folded his own hands on the table, and then nodded in thanks to Minerva. She nodded back - apparently prepared for Kingsley to want privacy - and glanced once more at Harry before departing. 

“You know, Harry,” Kingsley began when the door had closed behind her, his voice calm and even. “You might have contacted me instead of taking things upon yourself.”

Harry blushed. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I kind of… flipped out. Draco was just gone. Taken. And… I thought you’d be… busy. So I just… went.”

Kingsley looked at Severus and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t look at me that way, Minister,” Severus answered. “I just follow him around.” There was a small silence, and then Kingsley laughed.

“Well, I suppose you’re used to having to do things yourself,” he said. “And it certainly put the Auror corps on its toes.”

“He’s very possessive of his converted Deatheaters,” Severus added and, on impulse, raised Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

“Yeah, well, they’re kinda rare, aren’t they?” Harry muttered, suddenly seeming rather recovered from his assault-by-mail. “There’s only  _ two.” _

“Any others remain to reveal themselves.”

Harry sat up a little straighter. “Right. So. Converted Deatheaters,” he said. “I want pardons.”

Kingsley sighed. “I came prepared for that,” he said, and laid a scroll on the table.

“Well, that was easy,” Severus laughed.

“This is just for you, Severus,” Kingsley answered evenly. “A hundred witnesses saw you execute The Dark Lord. I showed my own memories to the Wizengamot, and they found it compelling enough to issue an exoneration immediately. On one condition.”

“What condition?” Harry asked, taking up the scroll and examining the Ministry seal pressed into the blot of blue wax.

“The Wizengamot is insisting on trying the Malfoys,” Kingsley answered. “Yes, a full trial. And as I am not a monarch, I cannot unilaterally prevent it. The pardon is conditional on testimony. By both of you.” 

“I told you,” Severus muttered to Harry. “And that,” he nodded to the scroll. “Is  _ two  _ conditions.”

“I suppose they consider you a package deal,” Kingsley said wryly. “But I wanted to explain that first, as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be joining us shortly.”

“The  _ what?”  _ Harry asked, appalled. “It’s not _ Grant,  _ is it?”

Kingsley gave his low chuckle. “No, Harry. Eriksson is the head of Auror Personnel. And he is on leave, in any case.” His eyes crinkled. “Medical leave.” 

“I didn’t hurt him!” Harry said. “I just locked him in a room!”

“Perhaps it’s his ego that is wounded,” Severus supplied. “Who is the new Head of the DMLE? Yaxley is extremely dead, and so are his two most recent predecessors.”

“Yes, I know,” Kingsley answered. “He was stabbed to death by House-elves. I saw it.”

“Nice,” Harry said, but then looked sideways at Severus and turned pink. “I mean… he was a Deatheater, right?” 

“Yes, he was.”

“Nice,” Harry repeated under his breath. 

“He was a despicable person,” Kingsley agreed. “He was responsible for subjugating many of the Aurors, including his immediate predecessor, Pius Thicknesse, who is also dead. The new head has come out of retirement for-” The fireplace ignited before he could finish, and a clean-shaven older man with neat white hair stepped through. He was dressed in plain navy robes with a collar so high it brushed his chin, and had the look of someone who had spent many years writing reports, save for a pair of long, pale scars running across one side of his face and down his jaw.

“Mr. Potter, Minister,” he said, brushing soot from his robes. “...Mr. Snape.” 

At the man’s tone, Harry looked at Severus, but Severus just stood up to shake his hand, so Harry did, too.

“Nice to meet you, Mr…” Harry began.

“ Gregory Cephous Philip Wagner Gareg the Fourth,” the man supplied with a small and imperious nod. “Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry blinked. “Your name is Greg Gareg?” he asked, and the head of the DLME narrowed his eyes.

“Mr. Gareg, if you please, Mr. Potter,” he said. “The Fourth.”

There was a silence as everyone sat, and Harry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, and as Severus glanced at him, he witnessed a truly masterful transformation. Apparently Harry had decided that Mr. Greg Gareg the Fourth did not merit interaction with Harry Potter, Sweetheart of the Wizarding World. Apparently he was going to get Wizard Prince, Terrorist. The First. And that was first-rate intuition, really, because Severus despised this particular officer of the law and had for many years.

“So, what’s the deal with this conditional pardon?” Harry asked coolly. “It’s meaningless.”

Kingsley raised his eyebrows at Severus at this sudden shift in tone, and Severus raised his eyebrows right back, as if to say,  _ you brought the DMLE. What did you expect? A curtsy? _

“Meaningless?” Mr. Gareg echoed. “I would think you’d be happy for even a conditional pardon, for your…” his eyes swept over Severus. “...Mentor.”

“That’s not my mentor,” Harry retorted. “That’s my partner, and you probably know that, since it was in the paper. And your pardon is meaningless because there is literally no prison on earth that can hold me, or keep me out. So. What exactly do you want?” He picked up the scroll and tapped it on the table. “Plain language, please. I don’t really speak  _ legal bullshit.” _

Severus laid a hand on Harry’s thigh under the table, though even he wasn’t sure if he was trying to communicate, _‘simmer down,’_ or, _‘_ _destroy him.’_ Maybe he meant some combination. _‘Simmer down and then destroy him.’_

“You must think you’re above the law,” Mr. Gareg said slowly. “Though I suppose I knew that, as you broke into the DMLE and shamelessly absconded with two suspects.”

_ “Absconded,”  _ Harry scoffed. “I’m pretty sure I  _ walked.” _

“Actually, my love, you apparated the Malfoys straight through the walls. Quite extraordinary,” Severus interjected, and gave Mr. Gareg an icy stare. “Explain the conditions and we can negotiate. I don’t think the DMLE is in a position to make demands, particularly not after how diligently your entire department worked to uphold the disgusting and immoral laws of the Dark Lord’s regime. Don’t think we’ve forgotten the last year in the flurry of celebration.”

“That’s quite bold coming from you, Mr. Snape,” Mr. Gareg answered in a similarly cutting tone.

“Bold?” Severus asked. “Would you care to explain the reward  _ your office _ put on Harry’s head? Two-hundred-thousand galleons. Quite a princely sum. I suppose you wanted to use it to put him through university.” He tented the fingers of one hand on the table and leaned forward. “I see your hackles are up. Are you going to try to tell us you’ve reformed the whole department in less than a week?”

“Severus,” Kingsley said. “Gregory, please. This is meant to be a civil discussion.”

“I have a question,” Harry broke in. “Did you sign the warrant that sent those lackeys into Hogwarts?”

“I did, though I wouldn’t call my Aurors  _ lackeys.  _ There was strong supporting evidence for that arrest, and the DMLE is of the belief that expediency is beneficial when dealing with Deatheaters. They tend to run, you see.”

“Cool,” Harry said. “Good job. There were hardly any Deatheaters terrorizing the country this whole time.” He rolled his eyes. “Alright, enough nonsense. Explain the terms so I can reject them. I’m hungry.”

Mr. Gareg glanced at Kingsley and then back at Harry. “Very well. I can see that you have a low regard for Law Enforcement.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered snidely. “I used to want to be an Auror. Then I met a bunch of them, and it turns out they’re just bureaucrats more concerned with the letter of the law than anything even  _ close  _ to actual justice. Not Kingsley, though. He does a great job. Probably why he’s your boss now.” Kingsley laughed once and then coughed and schooled his expression into neutrality. Mr. Gareg glared at him.

“The terms are these,” he said tersely. “The Wizengamot is prepared to exchange your complete and unaltered testimony for the exoneration of Severus Snape who is, I’ll remind you, wanted for the murder of both your former Headmaster and a former Minister.”

“Oh, this will be such a lark,” Severus sneered. “You have  _ no idea.” _

“That is rather the  _ POINT,  _ Snape,” Mr. Gareg hissed. “That we  _ don’t know.  _ And Albus Dumbledore isn’t here to cut you from the gallows this time, is he? As you  _ killed him in cold blood.”  _

Harry looked between them. “Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked, and then squinted at the head of the DMLE. “You fucking  _ arrested him last time didn’t you?” _

“Did you?” Kingsley repeated, looking startled. Mr. Gareg just pointed to the scar on his face and did not speak.

“Yes he did,” Severus said. “My apologies for defending myself,  _ Gregory. _ I was  _ twenty-one,  _ and rather less able to withhold my wrath than I am now.”

“And how old is your  _ ‘partner?’  _ Was he even  _ alive  _ when I took you into custody?”

“You know full well that he was, you unforgivable moron,” Severus said smoothly. “He’s Harry Potter, obviously, and everyone in the country knows his birthday, and he stopped that war, and he stopped this one, and I am having some difficulty wrapping my brain around your motivations in coming here to harass him.” 

Severus and Mr. Gareg stared each other down for a long, tense moment, and then Harry spoke. 

“How about this,” he said. “Unconditional pardon for Severus and the Malfoys, and you can go fuck yourself?” He raised his eyebrows. “Sound fair?”

“I counter with putting you both under arrest for breaking and entering, murder, terrorism, destruction of Government property-” His eyes raked over Harry’s face. “-Assault, statutory rape, and domestic abuse.”

“Don’t forget robbery,” Harry said, and held out his wrists. “Me first.”

Mr. Gareg raised his wand, but Kingsley caught his arm. “You don’t want to do that,” he said. 

“And why not?” Mr. Gareg demanded. “I refuse to believe this  _ SAINT  _ nonsense. He’s just a Wizard, and there must be consequences for such flagrant disregard for the law!”

“I don’t like this person,” Harry said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying myself,” Severus answered. “How’s your magic?”

“Fine,” Harry answered. “I’m not feeling particularly threatened.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.”

“This is  _ absurd,”  _ Mr. Gareg spluttered, and then reached into his robes, withdrew a small, crab-like device, and slapped it onto the table. It gave a single flash of bright white light and went dark. Harry frowned at it. 

“What is that supposed to be?”

“That’s a magical dampener,” Severus answered, leaning back in his seat. “No magic can be cast inside the radius, except by the deployer. They’re absolutely foolproof, and have a long track record of disabling even the most powerful Wizards.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “That’s nice.” He vanished it, and then looked at Kingsley. “Can I talk to someone else? Not this clown.”

“How…?” Mr. Gareg reached out and touched the wood where the dampener had lain. “But…you... that’s not… not possible,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen - no one can-”

“You must not be paying very much attention at all,” Severus said. “That was nothing.”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Kingsley said. “Let me speak to the Wizengamot again. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” He took the Head of the DMLE by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet. “I wasn’t aware there was… history.” He summoned the floo powder to his hand. 

“No need for the floo, Minister,” Severus said. “Harry can send him back. Atrium of the Ministry? It’s practically painless, and very efficient. Would you mind, Harry? Save them a trip?” 

“Not at all, Severus,” Harry answered pleasantly. “I’d be delighted.” Mr. Gareg looked at Kingsley with an expression of abject terror, Harry waved a hand, and he vanished, leaving nothing behind but the echo of a yelp of dismay. 

Kingsley looked at the empty space beside him. “Oh.”

“That guy is a huge prick,” Harry said. “I think you should fire him.”

“I think he might resign,” Kingsley answered, and held out his hand for the scroll. “I’ll tell them you declined, shall I?”

“Tell them this,” Severus answered. “We are willing to testify on two conditions. Firstly, under no circumstances are Harry or Draco to be subjected to unrestricted  _ Legilimency.  _ Decanted memories only. Secondly, Draco and Narcissa are to be permitted to remain in our custody during the duration of the trial, and are not to be pursued.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Kingsley said, though it really wasn’t that reasonable and they both knew it.

“Wait, I have a condition,” Harry added. 

“And what’s that?”

“I won’t let Severus or the Malfoys testify alone. If they’re on the stand, I want to be there.” He looked sideways at Severus. “Just in case there’s any…”

“Miscarriage of justice,” Severus finished for him.

“Very well,” Kingsley said. “I’ll send word with their decision.” He smiled at Harry. “Care to send me back as well? I’d hate for Gregory to exaggerate the discomfort of whatever it is you’re doing.”

Harry smiled back at him. “It doesn’t hurt or anything,” he said. “Severus was kidding.”

“I assumed. My office would be appreciated, if you can do it that way.”

“He can,” Severus said. “He can do anything.”

“Bye!”

Kingsley appeared  _ in his desk chair,  _ and his assistant, who’d been arranging a stack of papers, screamed and hurled them in all directions. 

“Well,” he said as the documents fluttered to the floor. “I bet the Department of Magical Transportation doesn’t like that at all. Sorry to startle you, Rosemary. I thought you might have gone home.”

“Minister-” she gasped, clutching her heart. “How did you-?”

“Are you familiar with the Holy Church of Harry Potter?” he asked, and laughed. “Please send word to Raif that I’d like to meet with him again. Today, if possible.” 

Severus and Harry looked at each other in Minerva’s empty office.

“Well,” Severus began slowly, and cleared his throat. “...Care for a shag in the lift?” 

Harry grinned at him and flicked his fingers in the direction of the door. “Yes I would.”

Severus yanked him out of his chair by the front of his shirt and bent him unceremoniously over the table. 

“I cannot stand seeing you that way,” he growled, undoing Harry’s trousers and dragging them down to his thighs. “I can’t  _ stand it.” _

“Tell me what you did to his face,” Harry answered breathlessly. “He tried to arrest you and you fucked up his  _ face?” _

“Yes,” Severus answered, unhooking his belt with one hand while he used the other to ruck Harry’s shirt up towards his arms, exposing the smooth skin of his back. “I did. I was twenty-one, like I said. Staying in the Hog’s Head. I’d only just taken Albus’ offer to teach. Gregory was a field Auror, then. He and his team-” He paused to cast the lubrication charm over him, and then rustled with his clothing, hurriedly pushing it out of the way. He’d been hard pretty much from the moment Harry told the head of the DMLE to go fuck himself, and it was starting to  _ hurt. _ “They burst into my room - two in the morning, while I was sleeping-” He held himself steady, a bead of pre-come already smearing on Harry’s skin, and began to breach him, forcing a thin cry out of Harry’s mouth. Severus hadn’t stretched him at all, but even so, the resistance was minimal. Probably because he had, of course, had Harry on the floor of his bedroom that very morning. Was it possible to die of too much sex? He wondered. Because if it was, he was going to. “And I -  _ god-”  _ He broke off with a grunt, bracing his hands on the table as Harry’s nails dug into the wood.

“Fuck,  _ Severus,”  _ he gasped.  _ “Faster.”  _ He planted his feet, forcing back against him to take him deeper, and Severus’ ears rang as their bodies knocked together. “You were  _ asleep?  _ Tell me. Tell me.”

“I was asleep,” Severus continued, trying to recover the thread of his story as he started to move. “They tripped my wards - they were trying to - catch me unawares - but - I was - _ready.”_ He wrapped both hands around Harry’s waist to keep him from getting bruised on the edge of the table, using the grip to pull him back into each thrust. “It was a - whole - unit. Seven men. I suppose - they thought - I was - _dangerous.”_

“Oh,  _ god,”  _ Harry moaned, scrabbling uselessly at the wood.  _ “Harder. Fuck me. _ Severus - _ fuck me.”  _ Severus laid into him, jerking his hips back, and Harry reached one hand underneath himself to take hold of his cock. “Oh -  _ yes-”  _ he panted, stroking himself feverishly. _ “Yes. Yes. _ Tell me what you did, you  _ fucking - terrifying-” _

“I disabled  _ four,”  _ Severus continued, dropping his voice, watching goosebumps prickle across Harry’s arms and the exposed skin of his back. “Wounded two - If I hadn’t already turned, I would have - killed them all. The Aurors didn’t know or care that I belonged to Albus. They wanted my head - on the -  _ chopping block. _ And  _ Gregory -  _ he was there when Evan died. He  _ taunted me.  _ He -  _ fuck -”  _ He’d lost his grip on Harry’s hips in the sweat gathering on his skin, and slammed him hard into the edge of the table, but Harry did not seem to mind. He let out a stream of profanity, fucking his own fist, gasping against the wood with his eyes squeezed tight shut. He was imagining, maybe. Picturing a twenty-one year old Severus, cornered in a rented room. Angry and desperate, as he had been. Violent, and grieving, and unwilling to go quietly. Not just  _ prepared _ to fight -  _ wanting  _ to. “It was  _ sectumsempra,”  _ Severus continued, leaning over to bite down on Harry’s back, sucking a mark onto him. “What I did to his face. And his  _ body.”  _ He took hold of Harry’s hips again, lifting him up onto his toes and angling his thrusts, pressing his chest against his back, and Harry let out a tortured wail. “For  _ enemies,”  _ Severus hissed, covering Harry’s hand with his own, taking over the pace, pounding relentlessly into him. “You should see the rest of him. No one knew the counter-curse. Only me. And - I  _ disfigured him. Ruined  _ him. I -  _ cut - him - open-”  _ Come pulsed out against Severus’ hand, hot and slick, and he dug his fingers into the ridge of Harry’s hip, curling forward, absolutely overcome. “My  _ god,” _ he moaned.  _ “Harry - How did I find you?” _

“You just fucked me in McGonagall’s office,” Harry panted. “Jesus.”

“Yes - I - did,” Severus answered breathlessly, resting his forehead on Harry’s back. “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

“Haa,” Harry laughed shallowly. “Likewise.” He dropped his head to the wood. “Can I go back in time and suck you off in prison? Cuz I’m feeling like I want to do that.”

Severus thought the answer to that was probably yes, which was a very disturbing idea.

“I’ll have you know I was in holding, just like Draco,” he answered, and pulled out, triggering a tiny yelp that he liked very much. “But if you did, I think I’d be confused. You look quite a lot like James.” And, of course, a twenty-something Severus would have had no idea how to give Harry what he needed. He could have given him bruises, and welts, and teeth marks back then, of course, but he wouldn’t have had the faintest idea how to make him stop crying. Or how to love him. A seventeen year old Harry and A twenty-one year old Severus? A month at most of incredibly violent, dangerous sex, and a spectacular flare-out.

Funny to think Severus was the moderating force, now.

“Weird thing to say while your come is getting on my jeans,” Harry muttered. 

“Apologies. We have a complicated history.” Severus cleaned them both up, along with the table and floor, trying not to think too hard about what they’d just done. “Now, are you really hungry? Or were you just trying to be obnoxious?”

“I was just trying to be obnoxious,” Harry answered, propping himself up to pull up his trousers. “But I’ll eat if you want. What time is it?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s quite suppertime,” Severus answered, tucking in his shirt. 

“I’ll wait for dinner,” Harry answered, and turned towards the crates. “Hm. Let’s see what I’ve-” He broke off with a little squeak as Severus caught his shirt and jerked him back into a kiss. “What was that for?”

“No reason at all,” Severus answered, and patted his cheek. “Now you may inspect your mail.” 

Harry just looked up at him, his eyes glittering. “Did you know that my mentor is the most reviled Professor ever to walk Hogwarts’ hallowed halls?” he asked, smoothing his palms down Severus’ chest. “He’s really scary and mean.”

“I’ve heard that,” Severus answered dryly, and brushed his thumb across Harry’s still very swollen lower lip. “Did you know that my protégé has made a hobby of toppling governments? It’s so charming I can hardly keep my hands off of him. I think I might get sacked if I can’t stop.”

Harry laughed again and pushed him off. “C’mon, lets take all this rubbish with us. Get it out of McGonagall’s office, at least. Plus, I want to see what Rita was trying to tell me with these  _ attack letters.” _ He crouched down and tapped on the glass, and the animated envelopes clustered around his finger like puppies. “Aw, look.”

“You didn’t find those quite so endearing when they were climbing all over you,” Severus said, and waved his wand, shrinking the three boxes down to the size of playing cards. The crate, the tank full of spent howlers, and Harry’s new pets. “As for Rita, if she’s half a brain, she’ll have been begging for mercy in the later ones.”

“Doubt that.” Harry stood, and pocketed the lot. “Ok. Let’s go talk to the Malfoys.”

  
  



	17. The Worst Headmaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what its too long (big surprise) and will be broken into YET ANOTHER PART!

Draco paced back and forth, staring at the clock, watching as the minute hand ticked past the six and crept upwards. And then it passed the twelve, and moved on towards quarter past five, and still no note or word from Harry. How long did it take to negotiate with the Minister? Harry was friends with the Minister, wasn’t he? Shack-something. Or... Hackle...mort. Something like that. 

“Stop pacing, darling.” His mother was reclined on the brocade sofa, seemingly unconcerned. “You’ll give me a migraine.” 

Draco glared at her. “Pardon me for being concerned about our _prison terms.”_

“You should trust your little friend,” Narcissa answered dryly. “He blocked the killing curse with his hand.”

Well, that was true. Maybe he was being silly. Maybe he was - 

He walked straight into someone. 

“Holy F- oh, shi-” He tripped over his feet, and toppled back onto his hands. “Snape!” he finally managed. “Harry! Merlin’s _pants.”_

“Oh, hello gentlemen,” Narcissa said, standing up. “How did it go?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, offering his hand to Draco on the floor. “Didn’t mean to show up right in your face like that.” He pulled Draco to his feet. “It went fine. No agreement yet, but I really scared the bollocks off of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Huge tosser.”

“Oh… thanks,” Draco said, flushing in embarrassment. Why did Harry and Snape always have to find him in such undignified positions? He was never _casually standing._ He was always on the floor, or being dragged away, or in _jail._

He brushed himself off, annoyed, but then looked back up at Harry and frowned. “What happened to your face?” 

“Is it _that_ noticeable?” Harry asked, and Severus shrugged, and Draco narrowed his eyes, but before he could ask anything else, Kreacher appeared around the corner.

“Masters Potter and Snape!” he gasped, bowing low. “Kreacher is so pleased!”

“Hey, Kreacher,” Harry said. “Thanks for coming here on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”

“Master Potter is too kind,” the elf said to the floor. “Might Kreacher open a bottle of wine? It is after five.”

“Oh, yes,” Narcissa answered, clapping her hands together. “Let’s toast! Who was it specifically you terrified?”

“Gregory Gareg,” Severus answered. “I think you may have encountered him once or twice. He’s been appointed Department Head.”

“Oh _no,”_ Narcissa gasped. “That sanctimonious bureaucrat? How did _he_ become head of the DMLE?”

“He used to be a field officer,” Severus answered simply. “And I got the impression Minister Shacklebolt was a bit short-handed.”

Draco snapped his fingers. “Shacklebolt!” Everyone else looked at him. “Sorry. I - uh. Couldn’t think of his name.”

“We have to wait, in any case,” Severus continued after a moment. “The Minister is going to renegotiate with the Wizengamot on our behalf.” Kreacher reappeared with a tray laden with a bottle of red and four glasses. “Ah, thank you Kreacher. Shall we sit? Harry can recount your harrowing rescue.” 

“You tell it,” Harry said, and when Severus sat in an armchair, settled himself on the floor at his feet and leaned against his legs. “You’re better at telling stuff.”

“Very well,” Severus answered, stroking the fingers of one hand into his hair. He took a sip of his wine, and looked directly at Draco. “Harry broke Horace’s nose for letting them take you.”

“You _what?”_ Draco gasped. “How?”

“Punched him,” Harry answered simply. “He deserved it.” 

“He did, indeed,” Severus said. “And then Harry apparated me directly to the Ministry Atrium. We were in the Hospital Wing. Quite shocking.”

“But… how did you find out we were gone?” Draco asked. 

“Ron and Hermione,” Harry said. “They told me they hadn’t seen you since the day before, and I knew you wouldn’t just leave, so…” He glanced back at Severus. “I knew something was wrong and tried to find you.”

“Ron and Hermione noticed?” Draco asked, and looked at his mother, who patted his knee.

“Tell us what happened at the Ministry,” she said. “Have you ruined any careers? Or any _more_ careers, I should say.”

“Just GRANT,” Harry laughed, and then glared into his glass. “Git.”

Draco sat and listened in a stunned silence as Severus told the story, watching him pet Harry’s head with a weird mixture of jealousy, gratitude, and relief, which was rather how he’d felt watching them _fraternize_ at that first dinner. At least until Charlie Weasley had started engaging him in conversation. Then he’d mostly been thinking about Charlie Weasley. But there was no Charlie Weasley to pull his attention just now. There was only Snape, and his hand in Harry’s hair, and there was Harry’s mouth, which looked like it had been bleeding very recently, and that was giving him some other feelings entirely. His mother, however, seemed to be experiencing a much simpler emotional state: elation. She particularly liked the part about Harry burning the floor, though Draco was pretty sure she would have found it less delightful and more terrifying if she’d actually seen it.

Not a normal thing to do. Cast magic through your _feet._

“So, after… _transporting_ Draco, Mr. Eriksson brought us down into holding for you,” Severus continued, giving Narcissa a little nod. “And we dispelled the Dementors guarding you.”

“Oh, _Draco!”_ Narcissa suddenly burst out, seizing his upper arm. “I meant to tell you! Their _Patronuses.”_

“What?” Draco asked. “What about their Patronuses?”

Narcissa gave Severus a glittering look. “A _stag_ and a _doe,_ darling. So romantic. I could hardly stand it. I had _no idea_ you two were _soulmates.”_

“It’s a legend, I guess,” Harry answered. “But… yeah.”

“Obviously,” Severus added in an acid tone. 

“Wait,” Draco said. “Harry’s Patronus is a doe?” 

“No,” Severus answered. 

“But, I thought you just - oh.” Draco cleared his throat. “Pardon me.”

Harry chuckled. “My Patronus is a large and manly stag with HUGE antlers. And Severus’ is a dainty lady deer. Very pretty.” Severus flicked him on the ear. “Ow!” Harry laughed again. “What? She is pretty!”

“My _dainty lady Patronus_ aside,” Severus continued. “We retrieved your mother, and your wands, and then stopped off in the Atrium so Harry could destroy that gauche statue. And then we returned to school.”

“And I sent Kreacher,” Harry added.

And Kreacher had appeared, and told Draco that Master Potter was _indisposed,_ which he absolutely did not ask them to clarify. Instead, he asked if they were staying.

“At Number Twelve?” Harry asked, and looked back at Severus over his shoulder. “I - didn’t even think about that. How long were we planning on staying at Hogwarts?”

“Long enough to receive the counter-offer from the Wizengamot, certainly. After that, I was hoping to discuss it with you. But as the Malfoy’s are here, the decision may have been made for us.” He regarded the pair of them. “We have asked the court to release you into our custody until your exoneration.”

“You seem very confident, Severus,” Narcissa said. 

“I am.”

She leaned back a bit against the sofa cushions and crossed her ankles. “Well, in that case, I thank you in advance for sparing me the Dementor’s kiss. And or life in Azkaban.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Severus answered. “And I thank you for lying for Harry when it mattered. And _you,”_ he gave Draco a small nod. “For disobeying when I told you to flee. Those reinforcements saved a lot of lives.”

Draco blushed. “Kreacher wants you to stay,” he blurted out. “...He, uh. He told me so.”

“Did he now?” Severus asked evenly. “Kreacher can be so affectionate.”

“Severus,” Harry admonished him, and gave Draco a small smile. “Are your things still at school? We can bring them tomorrow if Kingsley gets back to us by then.”

“Oh. Mine?” Draco asked. “Yes, I mean… I was at Hogwarts all year. My things are still in my trunk in the Slytherin dormitory. But, my mother came directly from the Manor to the battle. She doesn’t have anything.”

“Just my wand - thank you for that, by the way - and Aunty Walburga’s poshest dress robes.” Narcissa gesturing down at herself. 

“I was wondering what in God’s name you were wearing,” Severus muttered. 

“Well… can we send for some, or something?” Harry asked. 

“I have an account with Aguillard Couturier and Madam Malkin’s,” Narcissa answered. “But I assume our assets are frozen. I don’t anticipate bathing in Galleons until after this nonsense with the Wizengamot has concluded.”

“I can get some money,” Harry offered. “I have a vault.” But then his brow crinkled. “Except I destroyed the bank.” He grimaced at Severus over his shoulder. “I stole a dragon, and I destroyed the bank.”

Severus let out a single bark of laughter. “I quite forgot about that, what with all the other excitement. Though I doubt you destroyed the _entire bank._ The cellars are extensive.” He scratched his nails lightly against Harry’s scalp. “And I have a vault as well. We might make a withdrawal from that, instead, if I’m welcome there myself. ...Which I very well may not be.”

There was a small silence. 

“Maybe I can ask Bill?” Harry finally said. “He works for Gringotts, and he’s gotten money for me before. Maybe he can ask, or just take some out? Then you can get clothes, and we can make sure the kitchen stays stocked and -” He broke off. “Wait. Has Kreacher been feeding you?”

“Of course,” Narcissa answered. “Last night he made a delightful risotto.”

“Huh,” Harry said, and then called out. “Kreacher?” The little elf stuck his head back in the doorway. 

“Yes, Master Potter?” 

“How are you buying food?”

“Kreacher is an inherited House-elf,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher is passed to his new Master with the Black Family house and vault. The House-elf manages the home for his family.” He stood up very straight. “Kreacher is managing the Black Household alone for eighty-four years.”

“So… can you get into my vault? Or something?”

“Kreacher can request coins from Gringotts,” Kreacher said, looking suddenly worried. “Kreacher sends for money, and the coins appear in the Black Family safe.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Kreacher has receipts…” he continued, and then there was a pause, and he threw himself face down on the rug. “Bad Kreacher! Kreacher STOLE FROM MASTER POTTER-”

“Oh, Jesus,” Harry gasped, scrambling to his feet as Kreacher smashed his forehead into the floor. “Kreacher, no! STOP THAT! STOP IT! NO!” He grabbed Kreacher around the waist and lifted him bodily up off the floor. “No punishing! I’m not even angry! Jeez. Stop _thrashing! STOP IT!”_ Kreacher went limp like a ragdoll in his arms, breathing hard, and then covered his face.

“Thief…” he whispered into his palms. _“Thief… thief…”_

“No,” Harry repeated, setting him back on his feet and crouching down before him. “You aren’t a thief, Kreacher. I just didn’t know how it worked.” He took the elf’s hands away from his face. “I was raised by muggles and I’ve only been in my vault twice. Now. I forbid you from punishing yourself like that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Potter,” Kreacher choked out, his eyes wide and glistening, and he made a fist with one spindly hand, his arm trembling in Harry’s grip like he wanted to hit himself. But then, very slowly, it relaxed again, and Harry let him go.

“Good,” Harry said. “No more of that, ok? You didn’t do anything wrong, and even if you did, no hurting yourself. Not ever, no matter what. Now, will you show me the safe? And how it works. Please.” 

“Yes, Master Potter,” Kreacher repeated, and bowed so low his nose actually did touch the floor. “This way, please.”

Kreacher, a bit unsteady on his feet, took Harry and Severus through the kitchen and into the pantry, which was nearly the size of Harry’s bedroom at Privet Drive and very well stocked. But the little elf bypassed the shelves of dried and preserved foods, and bottles of oil and sacks of flower, and pressed a panel of wood in the far wall with his gnarled hand. At his touch it melted away, revealing a large iron box decorated with flourishes of gold filigree. It did not appear to have any lock, handle, or mechanism to speak of, and when Kreacher stood back and looked at Harry expectantly, Harry looked at Severus. 

“I assume it is keyed to you,” Severus said. “Just touch it.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, and placed his palm flat on the metal face. It popped open. “Wizard theatrics,” he muttered, and pulled it open. Inside, there were a number of small sacks of coins, some envelopes, and a large leather-bound ledger that looked ages old. 

“Receipts,” Kreacher croaked, pointing to the book. 

“I know you’re not _stealing,_ Kreacher,” Harry scoffed. “But, hey! This is great! I don’t have to show my face at the bank.” He pulled out one of the bags and hefted it in his hands. “Do I have to authorize you to get clothes for Draco’s mum? Or can you just take care of it?” Kreacher bowed. 

“Master Potter tells Kreacher to take care of the Malfoys. Kreacher can send for necessities.”

“Very good, Kreacher,” Severus said, and then gestured at the ledger. “Do you mind if I take a look, Harry?”

“Be my guest,” Harry said, peering into the bag to see that it was full of gold Galleons. “Looks like it’s got the whole Black Family history in it, though. Probably not very relevant.” 

Severus opened the book and flipped to the end, and then turned back until he found the most recent page. He skimmed it, turned back to the first page, and then back to the end again.

“This… can’t be right…” he said slowly, scanning the entries more carefully. 

“The ledger is charmed,” Kreacher said. “Always correct. Entries are from Gringotts Goblins’ fingers.” He spread his hands as wide as he could, and wiggled his fingers like spider legs. “Always correct. Never mistakes.”

“But…” Severus turned back a few pages, drawing his index finger down the lines until he found the transfer of the Black assets. “What in Merlin’s name?”

“What?” Harry asked, looking over his arm. “What’s the matter with it?” 

Severus just pointed to an entry. 

_18/6/1996 - Withdrawals: none - Deposits: none - Total: 8456.1892.498_

“What’s that?”

“That’s the day your Godfather died,” Severus said. “June eighteenth. Those totals are Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “That’s a lot of money.”

“No, it isn’t,” Severus answered, and pointed to another line. 

_Date: 30/6/1996 - Vault #711 transferred to Vault #687_

“Is that your vault number?” he asked. “Number six-eight-seven?”

“Uh… yeah, I think so.”

“Harry,” Severus said, and pointed again.

_Date: 30/6/1996 - Withdrawals: none - Deposits: 278873.7683.376 - total: 287329.9575.874_

“Oh,” Harry said. “Is _that_ a lot of money?”

“Two hundred and eighty-seven THOUSAND GALLEONS?” Severus demanded, and then cleared his throat when it came out strangled. “...Yes, it is. It is a lot of money.” He closed the book, and stared at the Black family crest on the cover for a long moment. So much for worrying about what they’d do once Severus officially resigned. They were going vacationing in Bora-Bora. “Are you telling me you were not aware of this?”

“I just said I’ve only been in my vault twice,” Harry answered, a little defensively. “No one ever gave me a ledger, or any papers or anything, and I haven’t been since second year. What was I supposed to think about a big mountain of gold? Yeah, ok, it’s a lot. Wizards are weird. Great.” He shrugged. “How much is in yours?”

“Compared to that?” Severus asked. “None.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I inherited a bunch of gold. I also inherited a murderous madman and dead parents, didn’t I?” He gave Severus a nudge in the ribs. “C’mon, it’s barely more than my bounty.”

 _“_ Almost ninety thousand galleons is not _barely.”_

“I never had any Muggle money, so I don’t really have a frame of reference. And Hermione says the exchange rate makes no sense anyway. Let me see that.” Harry took the book from him and turned to the most recent page. “Let’s see what… Oh, look. Ten thousand Galleons?” Severus followed his finger and saw a withdrawal of 10000.0.0, with the note ‘fee: destruction of bank property (Dragon).’ It was dated the third of May, 1998. 

“Well,” he said. “How very efficient of them.”

“Hm,” Harry began shrewdly. “So basically what this means is... I can still afford twenty-seven dragons?”

“Guess what?” Harry said, tossing a bag of coins to Draco, who thankfully managed to catch it. “I’m RICH. Probably not as rich as you, but still.” Harry plopped back down on the floor and reclaimed his wine. “Cheers.”

“I think I need a nap,” Severus added, coming in after him and collapsing back into the chair. “Merlin.”

“Oh, did you just find out you’re a kept man?” Narcissa laughed. _“Exhausting.”_

Severus glared at her. 

“Kreacher has prepared a bedroom for Masters!” Kreacher piped up. “Masters should stay and rest! Fresh linens, fresh towels, sleeping masks, if it pleases Masters. Toiletries, too. And… nightcaps. And. And… slippers. Kreacher can monogram them!”

“We can’t, Kreacher,” Harry answered, curling one hand around Severus’ calf. “We have to go back to school and wait for Kingsley to contact us. If he wasn’t the Minister I’d just tell him to come here, but he is, so…” Kreacher looked devastated. “But we’ll come back!” Harry quickly continued. “With Draco’s trunk, and our stuff, I guess. Once the court agrees to leave us alone, we can stay, right?”

“Yes,” Severus answered. “Once we’ve gotten it in writing, anyway. I won’t accept anything less.”

“But… will Masters stay for dinner?” Kreacher asked plaintively. “Kreacher is preparing treacle tart.”

“Told you he likes treacle tart,” Draco muttered to his mother. 

“And _older men,”_ Narcissa answered in a very loud stage-whisper. 

“What?” Harry asked. “Severus isn’t _old.”_

“I said old _er.”_

“We can stay for dinner, Kreacher, thank you,” Severus said. “And he doesn’t like _older men,_ Narcissa. He likes _an_ older man. Singular.”

*** 

Kreacher kept their glasses full during dinner, and though Severus moderated his own intake somewhat, he pretty much let Harry do whatever he wanted. Which, as it turned out, was to drink nearly an entire bottle by himself, resulting in a very lively conversation about _‘telling Mr. Gregorragegor or whatever to suck a bag of knobs,’_ and, _‘did you know Severus got arrested before? And it took SEVEN Wizards? Seven! Isn’t that HOT?’_ and, _‘I bet those pricks at the Ministry weren’t even under the Imperius. Bet they just do whatever’s easiest. Gross!’_

At that point, Narcissa had given Severus a calculating look.

“I don’t think they were, either,” she said. “At least… not all of them.”

And Draco, who’d had nearly as much as Harry, broke in with his own opinion: “FUCKING Ministry _arseholes._ One of them called me a _dark creature._ Said he was going to make an example of me! RUDE!”

“That _is_ rude!” Harry agreed, and the pair of them launched into a mutual excoriation of the Ministry in general, and the Aurors in particular, while Severus turned back to Narcissa.

“Do you have any documentation?” he asked. 

“I’ve memories,” Narcissa answered with a small shrug. “But it isn’t easy to prove who is and isn’t under the _Imperius,_ as we both know quite well.”

“True.”

“They _showed you_ your dad dying?” Harry demanded, gesticulating with his glass. “That is FUCKED UP, Draco.”

“It _was!”_

“Any contemporaneous notes?” Severus asked. “I have some regarding your son, but nothing about the Manor, or you. And I didn’t recognize any of the Aurors Harry disabled, though I’m sure that wasn’t a quarter of the whole department.”

“No notes,” Narcissa answered. “At least, not that I’m aware of. And Lucius was in no state to be socking information away at the end, in any case.” She glanced at her son waving his fork at Harry Potter. “Which I think you also know.”

Severus inclined his head.

“And they put me in that awful _jumpsuit,”_ Draco was saying. “Khaki! UGH! Why not _tie dye?_ Just _humiliate me_ and _chain me to a table!_ Go ahead.” He slumped back in his chair. “Be my _guest._ Fucking Chosen One’s gonna vanish me through the wall. Just _wait.”_

“You looked fine,” Harry said dismissively. “And you have something else to wear now, anyway, and now Kreacher will get your mum something better, and then-” he stopped suddenly. “Wait a minute, I’m an _idiot!”_ He pointed at Narcissa. “I can fix that!”

She jumped in surprise as her frothy frock instantly transformed from obnoxiously intricate layers of pale blue silk into a sleek, tailored silhouette of black velvet. 

“What the fuck?” Draco gasped in delight. “That looks _fabulous!_ Stand up, mother! Stand up! Give us a twirl!” Narcissa rolled her eyes, but obeyed her son, and Draco threw his head back in glee. “Put a slit in it! Put a slit in it!” he crowed, and Harry, his glass held in both hands, scrunched up his nose, and Narcissa’s gown separated up to mid-thigh on one side. “YES! Boat neck!” 

“A what neck?” Harry laughed, and Draco indicated the correct shape on his own shoulders. “Oh. Sure.”

“Pardon _me,”_ Narcissa said as the high neckline faded, revealing her slender collarbones. “I am not a _dressform.”_

“LACE. CUFFS,” Draco demanded, slamming his fist onto the table, and Severus laid a hand on Harry’s knee, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Why don’t you give dear Draco something better to wear, too,” he said, and Harry laughed again, and transfigured Draco’s borrowed clothing into a near-exact replica of what Severus was wearing. Black slacks, black button-down, black waistcoat, and black boots.

“How’s that?” Harry asked. “I like _that._ _Now_ he looks like an ex-Deatheater.”

“Ha!” Severus said. “Stand up, Draco. Let’s see.” Draco looked down at himself, up at Severus, and turned red. “Go on, Mr. Malfoy. Unless you’d prefer lace cuffs.”

It was Kreacher who rescued Draco from having to twirl, though, as he appeared at just that moment with an obnoxiously large treacle tart and another bottle of wine, and conversation turned back towards the Ministry, and then towards the Minister himself, and Harry quite drunkenly dug into his pockets for his letters, wanting to show Draco the ones that were ‘alive.’ The first thing he withdrew was the container of Howlers, however, which was by that time a box of ashes and flecks of red paper.

“Oooh,” Draco said. “They _died.”_

“No, those are the Howlers,” Harry said, digging back into his pockets. “The charmed ones are green. Hang on.”

“Howlers?” Draco asked. “Why? You’re a hero. Who’s howling you?”

“Those were for me,” Severus said, tracing one finger across the rim of his glass. “And I am a _villain.”_

“No you’re _not,”_ Draco scoffed. “And who would even dare, anyway?”

“Oh, Draco,” Harry said. “TONS of people. Fucking NEWSPAPERS! _Gimme the newspaper, Severus._ C’mon. Everyone’s seen it already. Look at this RUBBISH!” He slapped the Prophet onto the table as soon as he had it in his hand. “I almost _burned the Forbidden Forest down.”_

“Actually, my beloved,” Severus corrected him. “I think you were poisoning the soil.”

“Burned the paper, though, didn’t I?” Harry answered, and mimed something erupting into flames. _“Fwoom._ Goodbye _hideous lies.”_

“Oh my Lord!” Draco gasped, staring down at the article. “What _is_ this?”

“Hideous lies, like I said,” Harry answered. “I’m very calm about it now, though. Totally calm, and I’m gonna ruin Rita’s life.” He held out both hands. “Calm. No fire, no salted earth. Keep the magic inside. Caaaalm.”

“Merlin’s _pants,”_ Draco said. “This is awful. Why did they make you look like Cupid?”

“Dunno. To make Severus look more like the devil, I guess.”

“Wait a minute,” Draco continued, scanning the text in lieu of looking too hard at the magical rendering of Harry being pawed at. “There are a _lot_ of Governors in here. Why are they…?” He frowned. “There was a hearing? When?” He looked up at Severus. “How in God’s name did you get away with this?” 

“Well, I am a spy,” Severus said. “And the hearing was last Christmas.”

“And Dumbledore _helped!”_ Harry added. “Mad bastard.”

“He _helped?”_ Narcissa asked. 

“Yeah, sort of. He told me how to testify to make it seem like the whole thing was weird, but fine. And definitely _not -_ uh…”

“Definitely _not_ exactly what it was,” Severus said, and tugged Harry towards him to kiss his hair. “Two very heterosexual individuals with no mutual attraction. A mentorship, you know. Fatherly. Nothing at all to worry about.”

“What sort of school was that man running?” Narcissa asked, aghast.

“He didn’t _care?”_ Draco demanded. 

“Not too much, no,” Harry said, and held up his left arm. “He gave us the bracelets in the first place. That’s how we were communicating all along. And… meeting. Before I figured out I could violate the wards, anyway. Still not too sure what he meant by it, to be honest. If he _knew._ I mean… bad Headmaster. Real bad.”

“A terrible Headmaster,” Severus agreed, and raised his glass. “Almost as awful as I was.”

“Oh, HA,” Draco said. “That’s what it’ll say under your Portrait. _Severus Snape: The Worst Headmaster. Was he sleeping with a student? Yes. But not the one you think!”_

Harry started cackling. “Severus wasn’t _my_ Headmaster,” he said. “He was my incredibly distracting Defense Professor! I only had one Headmaster, and he was _way worse,_ and his name was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. May he rest in peace and never - oh my GOD. Draco. C’MERE.” He jumped up and proceeded to seize Draco by the sleeve and drag him out of the room. 

“Well,” Narcissa said. “He’s certainly lively, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Severus answered. “Either he’ll keep me young forever, or I will literally die.”

“Oh, psh. He seems just your speed. Fiery little thing like that? And _so-”_ A scream cut the air and the pair of them leapt to their feet and rushed out of the room. And what they found was a parchment-white Draco against the wall in the entryway, a furiously cackling Harry waving his arms through a cloud of dust, and an irate and screeching portrait. 

“SCUM! FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS AND-”

“Told you!” Harry said over Mrs. Black’s wailing. “TONS of curses. Scary, right?”

“Sweet - Merlin,” Draco panted. “What the - fuck.”

“YOU DARE SET FOOT IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS? DISGUSTING, PERVERTED SODOMITES CONTAMINATING THE VERY UPHOLSTERY OF-”

“Hey, whoa,” Harry said, suddenly serious as he turned towards the portrait. “That is not on.”

“GROTESQUE PERVERSIONS OF THE NATURAL ORDER OF-”

“Be _QUIET!”_ Harry barked, and Walburga’s painted mouth snapped closed and vanished. “Jesus. When did you die? The year three-hundred?” He rolled his eyes. “Fucking bigots. God.” He turned back around, and seemed to realize that Draco was in some distress. “Oh. Uh… Sorry. Probably should have warned you. Let me… take these off. Hm.” He squinted at the front door and started making sweeping motions with his hands, while Severus laid one palm on Draco’s shoulder.

“You didn’t kill Albus,” he said quietly. “I did, and he forced my hand. Try to consider it a suicide. You’ll sleep better.”

“...Right,” Draco answered, and gave a feeble little laugh. “Suicide. Right.” 

“I think it’s all gone,” Harry said, brushing his hands together like he’d been digging in the dirt. They seemed clean, but Severus had never tried to strip jinxes with his bare hands. Maybe it left residue. “Can you check, Severus?”

“As you wish.” He moved to stand beside Harry in the entry. No dust phantom arose, and nothing rolled his tongue back into his mouth, and no disembodied voice demanded if he was _Severus Snape._ Nothing happened at all. “Clean as a whistle,” he said, and glanced at the irate but perfectly silent portrait wrestling with her own mouth. “Pity you’re a sodomite, hm? What a waste of excellent breeding stock.” He hooked Harry around the waist and kissed him.

Kreacher plied them all with a tray of very elegantly presented digestifs in delicate crystal stemware when they returned to the parlor, of which Draco had three. Severus, however, took a precautionary sniff of his own, deduced that the cocktail was straight armagnac, and became immediately suspicious that Kreacher was trying to get Harry so hammered that he’d have to stay the night. And so he decided that it was time to say their goodbyes, lest Harry spend the rest of the evening vomiting.

Draco hadn’t liked that idea very much at all, and had even protested their departure, apparently concerned that they’d splinch themselves. But they didn’t splinch themselves. They appeared very safely on Severus’ bed, in fact, and Harry snickered in triumph, produced a bit of parchment, and immediately vanished it. 

“What did that say?” Severus asked, taking hold of Harry’s feet to remove his trainers and socks.

“Just said ‘ha,’” he answered, flopping onto his back on the bed. “Or, ‘haha,’ maybe. Or… _‘haaaa.’”_

“You are a truly obnoxious drunk,” Severus answered, leaning over him to undo his trousers and peel them off of him.

“I’m not _drunk,”_ Harry protested, lifting his hips to allow it. “Could a drunk person do THIS?” He raised one hand straight up towards the ceiling, and Severus looked up to see a banner unfurl out of thin air, reading: _I am drunk._

And that made him laugh.

  
  



	18. The Bluff Jester

Harry woke up in the middle of the night with a single thought in his head. Very clear, and very loud. 

_ The Weasleys cannot afford a ten-thousand-Galleon dragon fee. _

He sat bolt upright in the darkness, his heart pounding.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Oh, shit, shit.” He pressed his fingers against his eyes, and then his trigger point, trying to breathe, trying to count, trying to blink away the little lights dancing in his peripheral vision. 

_ Control it. Control it. _

Severus stirred beside him. 

“Harry?” came his sleep-roughened voice, and a hand groped for him, felt what he was doing, and withdrew.  _ “Lumos.”  _ A soft glow appeared in the room. “What’s the matter? Did you have a nightmare?”

“I - no,” Harry said, fumbling with his glasses, but as he slid them on his face and felt how clammy he was, he realized he was lying. He had been having a nightmare, but the details were draining from his mind like sand through a sieve. Something about darkness, and cold, and suffocating pressure. Ron and Hermione, too, maybe. And… water. 

That was it. Hitting water from so high up it was like concrete. And…

_ I say we jump!  _

“Shit, I dunno,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s not - not important-”

_ Straight into the water before it realizes we’re here! _

“Not important?” Severus asked, shifting to sit up against the pillows. “You’re drenched.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry answered, shying back from his hands. “I’m fine. I just - I have to go to the bank.” His teeth started to chatter. 

“The bank?” Severus asked. “We already took care of that.”

“No, not that, not for  _ me,”  _ Harry said. “That  _ fee.  _ The ‘damage to bank property’ fee. I just - what if Ron got one, too? Hermione doesn’t have an account at Gringotts, but Ron’s family does. And if they got that fee, I have to pay it - before they notice. I’ve seen their vault. They don’t even have  _ one _ thousand galleons, let alone  _ ten-” _ He rubbed at his arms. “I took Ron with me - and - he could have died - and  _ F-fred,  _ and - ten thousand Galleons would  _ ruin them.  _ I have to go. To the bank. I have to-”

“Alright,” Severus said firmly, and took hold of his upper arms. “We will go to the bank.  _ In the morning. _ But it’s closed now. It’s the middle of the night, and the Weasley’s vault is not an emergency.”

“But-”

“It isn’t, Harry,” Severus insisted. “It isn’t an emergency. We can go to breakfast in the Hall first thing and find some Weasleys. You know there will be at least one.” He let go of Harry’s arms and cupped the back of his neck with one hand, brushing his damp fringe off of his forehead with the other. “You are not responsible for everyone. Molly and Arthur are resourceful, and Bill works at Gringotts, doesn’t he? You said so yourself. We can speak to him, and he’ll go and check, and then we will help if we can.  _ In the morning.” _

“But what if they need m-money?” Harry asked, his eyes wide. “I have all this  _ money _ . And they-”

“Are a fully qualified, perfectly capable Wizarding family. If they need help, we will help them, but Gringotts might not have levied that same fine on Ron at all. He isn’t the account holder, and you are, and we only found out about that charge tonight, and it can wait a few more hours. Now, will let me clean you up? You’re shaking.”

“I’m f-f-”

“Fine?” Severus interjected, his eyebrows raised, and Harry grimaced and turned his face away. “What a shame I have much higher expectations for you than ‘fine.’” Severus summoned his wand to his hand. He ignored the Elder Wand when it tried to intrude, knocking it out of the air and back onto the floor where it belonged. “In fact, I have a minimum requirement of ‘good.’” He proceeded to cast a number of cleaning and warming charms over Harry’s body, and then the damp sheets beneath him. “There.” He put his wand aside and slid back under the covers. “Now, lie down.”

“But…” Harry looked around the dim room. “I’m kind of awake. Maybe I should just get up, or go into my magic or something. Is it almost dawn?”

“I’m going to hazard a no,” Severus answered, and patted his chest. “Come on. lie down.”

Harry glanced at him cornerwise. “I don’t think I’m gonna sleep.”

“Humor me,” Severus said. “And if you don’t sleep, you can sleep tomorrow. Maybe even trap me on the sofa again. That was quite a productive way to spend eight hours.” He lifted the corner of the sheets, and Harry twisted his mouth, hesitating. But in the end he relented, setting his glasses back on the bedside table and curling up against Severus’ side.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and Severus returned the room to darkness. 

“Don’t trouble yourself, hm?” he answered, skating one of his palms up Harry’s back and into his hair, and the other down his arm to trace the edge of his bracelet, and then further to brush over the small bones of his fingers. “The Goblins are in a tricky spot politically, I should think. And if they give us any trouble, you can always rob the bank again. Bury Ron’s family in stolen jewels and heirlooms of all kinds.”

“Ha,” Harry breathed. “I didn’t even rob it, really. I just got one Horcrux and scarpered.” He sighed. “Not my fault they blocked the exits.”

“Pity you hadn’t come into full flower with your magic quite yet.”

“Mm. Coulda - just -” He yawned. “Popped in, vaporized the damn thing, and popped out. They might not have even known I did it. Coulda had way more time to get to Hogwarts and burn the diadem.”

“I wonder if you might have been able to just summon it through the walls,” Severus mused, still stroking him lightly. “Even if you didn’t know where it was specifically.”

“I dunno. Maybe. I keep doing new stuff.” Harry paused, shifting closer to lay his ear over Severus’ heart. “I don’t know where the limit is.”

“No, neither do I,” Severus answered. “I’m not entirely convinced that there is a limit.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, and then hummed a little at his soft touch. “I don’t really like it. But that’s why we’re gonna practice more, right? So there’s… a limit. Even if it’s just one that I made.”

“Yes, that’s why. Just like all of your limits. Self-imposed.”

A silence.

“Severus?” 

“Hm?”

“Will you tell me another Angel of Death story?”

“If you like. Any requests?”

“Tell me something… something that’s not - about the war. Something else.”

“Well… Hm.” Severus thought about that. There were many stories still to be told between them, but most of them were at least tangentially related to the conflict that had disfigured both of their lives. What else might he share? Something over and done with, maybe. And no Wizard Prince. Or, at least… minimal Wizard Prince. Severus would be hard pressed to think of a story that didn’t involve Harry at all. Even his earliest memories of childhood were flooded with Harry’s mother - his adolescence tainted by his father - and his adulthood focused like a telescope, right on Harry himself. But there had been a brief lull, hadn’t there? While the Dark Lord had been bodiless, and Harry himself had been merely an idea to Severus, instead of a flesh and blood boy. “Ah,” he began. “Here we are. Once upon a time, many years ago, there was an Angel of Death, who agreed to teach the delicate and subtle art of potion-making to children, because he did not fully understand exactly what that would involve.” 

Harry laughed gently. “Mistaaaaake,” he whispered.

“Grievous, indeed,” Severus agreed. “But the Angel of Death was a man of his word, and so remained for many years, trapped in a magic castle.”

_ “Angel  _ of his word,” Harry interjected, tracing Severus’ clavicle with one finger. 

“Yes… an Angel of his word,” Severus allowed. “In any case, the Angel of Death took his teaching post very young, as you know. He was so young, in fact, that many of his students had once been his peers.” Harry blinked and frowned, his eyelashes a tiny tickle against Severus’ chest. “It made the Angel of Death’s job far more difficult, because they saw him as a fellow student, and not someone worthy of respect. And he’d…”  _ been in the papers.  _ “Not been very popular at school. All of his friends were either in a grave or in a cell. But there was one boy in particular who made the Angel of Death’s task quite substantially more tiresome than the others. A boy with a brilliant smile, and flowing golden hair. We might call him…  _ The Bluff Jester. _ It wasn’t that the Bluff Jester was particularly dimwitted, mind - he was a Ravenclaw - but he did not care to learn, nor had he any use for diligence or hard work. He valued only accolades and awards, and would regularly stoop to plagiarism and cheating to achieve them. He was obnoxious, and arrogant, and awful in nearly every substantive way. But the Angel of Death only had to teach him for a single year, and when the Bluff Jester tried to interject during class, the Angel of Death ignored him. And, as an aside, the Angel of Death only accepted Outstanding O.W.L.’s in his N.E.W.T. level class after that traumatizing experience, as the Bluff Jester had barely scraped an Acceptable, yet somehow still believed he would be better suited to holding forth, than attempting to learn.” He paused, and though Harry stayed quiet, his finger had stilled in it’s tracing. “So, when the Bluff Jester graduated, the Angel of Death thought he was quit of the insipid buffoon forever. But - alas. Eleven years later, the Angel of Death’s master,  _ the Emperor of Deceit, _ gifted the Bluff Jester the Angel of Death’s heart’s desire. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Position. Because, of course, the Angel of Death had yet to realize that his true heart’s desire was, at that time, an incredibly out of reach twelve-year-old boy. Which is very odd to say out loud.”

“Wait…” Harry began slowly. “Are you talking about Lockhart?” 

“The Bluff Jester has incredibly straight teeth.”

Harry lifted his head. “You taught _ Lockhart?” _

“Lie down,” Severus answered. “And yes. For a year. It was like a trial-run of hell.”

“That is _ mad,”  _ Harry muttered, and returned his head to Severus’ chest. “And I think I know who the  _ Emperor of Deceit _ is.”

“Who he  _ was,  _ you mean,” Severus corrected him. “He’s nothing but a hundred paintings and a thousand chocolate frog cards, now. But back to the Bluff Jester. He’d been hired to teach DADA, which the Angel of Death thought was patently ridiculous. The Bluff Jester couldn’t even produce a corporeal patronus, you see, let alone teach the theory, and all of his books were obviously complete  _ bullshit,  _ and he was visibly the worst kind of narcissistic, self-involved-” Severus stopped. Harry had requested a story, not a rant. 

He took a deep breath, and tried again. 

“He was given the appointment despite his many flaws, and when he appeared in the magic castle, many of the students and staff _swooned over him,_ and the Angel of Death was so annoyed that he nearly exploded in the Emperor of Deceit’s office. But he needn’t have worried, really. The Bluff Jester revealed his incompetence almost immediately when he turned the Wizard Prince’s broken arm into cooked pasta.”

“Ha. That hurt a lot, by the way.”

“The regrowing did, I’m sure. I brewed that skele-gro, by the way. Or the  _ Angel of Death  _ did. Anyway, despite that incredibly obvious show of ineptitude, the Bluff Jester did not seem to recognize his own faults, and near Christmas, he approached the Angel of Death to inquire if he might be willing to assist with a dueling club. Which the Angel of Death found to be a truly inspired idea.  _ ‘Oh, yes,’  _ said the Angel of Death.  _ ‘The children shall surely bow before you when they witness your skill on the battlefield. Allow me, the Angel of Death, to put myself at your mercy, oh mighty Bluff Jester. Allow me to sacrifice myself in order to demonstrate your superior skill to the world once and for all.’” _

“Oh, god,” Harry wheezed. “You  _ entrapped  _ him.”

“The Angel of Death was only allowing him to dig his own grave,” Severus answered. “And the Bluff Jester was very pleased, in any case. _‘Stupendous,’_ said he. _‘I know being seen with me, the very famous and handsome Bluff Jester, will mean so much for your reputation, Angel of Death. See you at dinner! Taaa!’_ And the Bluff Jester danced away, elated by his new project, and the Angel of Death retreated to his cave to cackle over his imminent and delicious humiliation.”

“I have never heard you cackle.”

“Hush. It took many weeks, but finally the first day of dueling club arrived, and the Angel of Death-”

“Knocked the Bluff Jester  _ flat,” _ Harry broke in. “Just… savage.”

“Yes. The Angel of Death considered doing something worse, but decided at the last moment that the Bluff Jester might be better served with a simple disarm. The Angel of Death knew that his  _ expelliarmus  _ was strong enough to send the Bluff Jester sprawling, you see. And in front of everyone. Tragic.”

“And the Wizard Prince was never the same again,” Harry exhaled against his skin. 

“And neither was the Angel of Death,” Severus answered. “For that was the day that the Wizard Prince revealed himself as a parseltongue, which was very alarming for everyone involved.”

“Mm.”

Severus winced. Why had he said that? Parseltongue was about the war, and Harry had said he didn’t want to hear about the war. If it hadn’t been sometime between midnight and four, he wouldn’t have blurted it out.

_ Parseltongue.  _

“And then the Wizard Prince and the Knight of Baked Goods erased the Bluff Jester’s memory while the Druid of Books was turned to stone, and the Angel of Death thought that was incredibly poetic, and now the Bluff Jester lives in St. Mungo’s, and it’s very… sad,” Severus finished. 

“It is kinda sad…” Harry answered. “I saw him in the hospital. He gave me a signed headshot. But he was… he wasn’t… They said he won’t ever get better.”

“No,” Severus agreed. “And he won’t ever erase the memories of better Witches and Wizards and steal their accomplishments again, either.”

“Yeah, true,” Harry sighed. “Funny. He never knew that diary was a Horcrux. If he’d obliviated me, and we’d lost it, that might have been it. For all of us.”

“You… said you didn’t want to talk about the war,” Severus said, though what his brain was screeching was:  _ HORCRUX? _

“S’okay,” Harry murmured. “That was a long time ago. I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang, you know. It was just luck. It was the only weapon I had, and I didn’t find out that was a way to kill Horcruxes for  _ ages.”  _ He yawned. “Dumbledore told me that was the first one. That Voldemort made it while he was still in school. Split his soul when he was sixteen.”

“The diary…” Severus said slowly. “Hm.” Incredible that Lucius hadn’t been beheaded for squandering it. After what happened to the mere  _ messengers _ of the loss of the cup… it boggled the mind that he’d survived even a single day.

“Poor Ginny,” Harry continued softly. “It had her. The fragment, I mean. Got right inside her. And now that I know how it feels to have a Horcrux close to you that way… It’s like being poisoned. It hurts, sort of… deep inside…” Harry curled up a little smaller and trailed off, but Severus did not speak. It seemed Harry was about to let out something important, and to prompt him might make him withdraw. So Severus stayed quiet, and focused on keeping his heartbeat slow and steady under Harry’s ear. “When I had to wear that locket,” Harry finally said. “It whispered to me all day and all night. Awful things. Telling me that I was stupid, and weak, and doomed to fail. That I was going to get my friends killed, and die myself. And that you left me, because… you didn’t love me. That you were all done with me, all finished, and you wanted someone else. That I was just… a toy.”

“... did you believe it?” Severus asked cautiously, brushing his fingers against the ridges of Harry’s spine. 

_ Please God say no. _

“Sometimes,” Harry murmured. “Not too much, though. I knew what the locket was. Not like Ginny. She thought she just had a charmed book, but I knew there was a bit of Voldemort in there, and it was just telling lies. The worst lies it could think of… to try to make me give up.”

Severus tightened his arm. “The way it tried to keep you from getting the sword,” he said.  _ The way it tried to drown you, right in front of me. And I didn’t - _

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But I knew you loved me, even when I was angry, or sad. You gave me the flower. The locket couldn’t take that away. No one could. It still hurt, though. Right here.” He touched the center of Severus’ chest with the pads of his fingers. “Like ice.”

“I would have worn it for you,” Severus whispered through the sudden tension in his lungs, turning his face towards the wild edges of Harry’s hair. “I would have - carried it.”

“Mm, no,” Harry said, his voice beginning to blur. “It might have convinced you. It did Ron. That’s why he left us. Couldn't have that. It would have taken ages to fix it. Would have had to tell you a hundred times that there was no one else for me. No one else I wanted, no matter what it said. Just you, all along. Just… you…”

Severus lay awake for a long time after Harry fell silent. Just laying there in the dark, imagining the Dark Lord’s hideous voice whispering into Harry’s ear in the deep winter night: _he doesn’t love you. He wants Draco. He chose Draco. You’re nothing. Just something to play with._ And Harry, alone, knowing that it wasn’t true. Knowing, in whatever secret place he kept safe from the Dark Lord, whose filthy soul had _lived_ _inside of him,_ that it could not be true. That he just had to make it to the end, and they could be together. Because Severus had promised. Promised to love him forever, no matter what happened, and to find him when it was all over. And thank God it hadn’t been a lie.

Into his mind floated the image of Harry wearing Severus’ cloak in a frozen, desolate landscape, and offering his cheek to be kissed. For a moment the rush of memory was so intense that he fancied he could see the billow of Harry’s breath in the darkness, and hear the soft lilt of his voice -  _ ‘I don’t want to start over.’  _ But then it faded, and in its place arose a new thought. Well, it wasn’t entirely new. He’d had it before, but right then it was particularly persistent.

_ I need to find a jeweler.  _

***

When Severus next opened his eyes, it was light in his room, and Harry was already awake and dressed. He was awake, and dressed, and sitting cross-legged on the floor on Severus’ side of the bed, inside his magic. Not wanting to startle him out of it, Severus shifted very carefully onto his side and pillowed his head on one arm to watch. There was already a ghostly dragonfly resting on the curled fingers of Harry’s right hand, but soon transparent Orchids joined it, blooming out of the rug, and then a great tropical vine with split leaves, and a graceful fern waving in a nonexistent breeze. It was quite a lot - more than Harry usually manifested, anyway - and Severus squinted at the flowers, trying to identify their specific genus. But then they withdrew, and Severus sat up, thinking he was coming out of it. But Harry didn’t blink and sigh, and he didn’t open his eyes, and after a moment, the greenery began to flow back out of him. Severus frowned, watching as it reached nearly to the bed frame, slowed, and then reversed. Not vanishing, as Severus recalled from their weeks together at the end of his sixth year, or sinking into the floor, but retreating into his body. Like lungs expanding and contracting with breath. A pulse of magic, slow and steady. 

At first, Severus did not understand exactly what he was seeing, but as he watched the mirages cycling through that pattern again and again, he realized that Harry was practicing. He was somewhere inside his jungle, calling forth and reabsorbing his magic, and it was bleeding into the real world in this lovely display. He was working on it inside, where he couldn’t hurt anything, or anyone. 

How very insightful. 

***

“YES,” Ron crowed, snatching the paper out of Neville’s hands. “HA!”

The front page held the blazing headline:  _ HUMILIATION AT THE MINISTRY,  _ above a photo of a bunch of Aurors stuck in the floor. A few of them were giving the camera rude gestures, and all of them looked incredibly pissed off. 

“Fucking brilliant,” Ron muttered, turning the page as Hermione and his brothers clustered around him. Neville just rolled his eyes and sat back to wait for the return of his newspaper. “Mad. Mad fucking - ”

“Does it say anything about the Malfoys?” Charlie asked, trying to shoulder Bill out of the way. 

“Yeah, it does,” Ron said, holding the paper aloft.  _ “‘Sources inside the ministry report that Harry Potter arrived with Severus Snape near seven pm on Monday, the fourth of May, to break Draco Malfoy out of DMLE custody. Draco, 17, son of infamous Deatheater, Lucius ‘The Silver Snake’ Malfoy-’” _ He broke off, and laughed.  _ “‘The Silver Snake?’  _ Has anyone ever called Lucius Malfoy that ever? Eh? The  _ Silver Snake?  _ More like the  _ blonde bimbo,  _ eh? EH?”

“Give me that,” Hermione said, grabbing the paper from him and spreading it flat on the table so the others could see.  _ “‘Draco, 17, was arrested along with his Mother Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, after another accused Deatheater, Peter ‘the Possum’ Pettigrew, testified against them.’”  _ Hermione stared down at the text. “The Daily Prophet is honestly the worst newspaper I have ever read,” she said.  _ “‘The Possum?’  _ He doesn’t turn into a  _ possum.” _

“You ever think about how that motherfucker used to ride in my pocket?” Ron asked. “Pretty  _ weird.” _

“Look!” Bill said, pointing a bit further along in the article.  _ “‘Minister Shakelbolt declined to comment on why even the most senior Ministry Officials were not able to release the Aurors, or what, exactly, had happened to the ‘Magic is Might’ monument.’  _ Hahaha. He destroyed that stupid statue!”

“C’mon, focus!” Charlie said. “Did they get Draco out, or what?”

“Of course they got Draco out,” Hermione said. “Honestly, who could stop them?”

“Yeah!” Ron added. “And who’d even d-” Someone tapped his shoulder, and he turned his head. “Fuck ME!” he yelped at the sight of Severus standing directly behind him, and everyone else looked around, too. “Merlin’s  _ feet,  _ Snape, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Oh. Hey, Harry.”

“Hey,” Harry said. “Morning. Am I in the paper again?” 

“Yup,” Ron answered, trying to recover his dignity. “Lookin’ pretty wicked, too. What did you do to all those Aurors? They look like topiaries.”

“Just didn’t want them to move, that’s all.”

“Wait,” Hermione said. “In the paper… again? Did you…uh… see that… other issue?” She glanced at Severus with what she clearly thought was a very inconspicuous grimace. 

“Unfortunately yes,” Severus answered airily. “Very offensive.”

“I dunno,” Ron said. “I liked the part where Rita Skeeter is gonna get turned into chicken stock. Remember when she called Hermione a scarlet woman? Uncalled for! Oi, Budge up.” He scooted towards Neville, shoving him aside to leave a space for Harry to sit. “C’mon, I’ll make you a plate!” he said. “You must be starving after all that  _ crime.” _

“Actually, I need to talk to Bill for a minute,” Harry answered. “Do you mind, Bill?”

“Me?” Bill asked, glanced at Charlie, and then at Severus. “I mean… sure. Is there a problem?”

“Bank business,” Severus answered.

“HA!” Ron burst out. “What bank? Pile of rubble, more like. Bloody Deatheater sympathizers. And don’t worry, Harry, nothing about Snape being a Bad and Despicable Man in this issue. At least… not really.”

Severus leaned over him to look at the byline. “Likely because Miss Skeeter didn’t write it,” he said, and scanned the text. “Ha. I’ve never heard either of those pseudonyms before in my life.” He nudged Ron’s arm with his elbow, and when Ron looked up, flicked his eyes towards Bill and Charlie. “Do you mind if I join you while Harry speaks to your brother? I’d like to take a closer look at this paper.”

“Oh…” Ron said, confused. “Sure, I mean, I don’t see why you wouldn’t… OH.” He sat up straight. “Er, no, not at all,  _ Severus,”  _ he continued loudly. “Harry’s  _ BOYFRIEND  _ is always welcome at our table. We, the Weasleys, and Hermione, and Neville, are not prejudiced against  _ boyfriends. _ Are we?”

“Er… no?” Neville said.

“Very subtle,” Severus said, and sat. 

“I am the KING of subtlety,” Ron answered. “Or, well, I suppose you,  _ Severus,  _ Harry’s  _ boyfriend, _ are the true king of subtlety. While I am-”

“An  _ idiot,”  _ Hermione laughed.

“An idiot with FOUR GALLEONS,” Ron answered pointedly, and reached for the teapot. “Cuppa,  _ Severus? _ How do you take it?”

“Milk no sugar,” Harry said absently. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He tugged gently at a lock of Severus’ hair. “Ok?”

“Don’t be long,” Severus answered. 

“So,” Neville said from Ron’s other side as Harry and Bill went out into the hall. “On a scale of one to ten, how impressive was it breaking into the ministry with Harry? When I went, I’d have said an eight. And he was… you know… normal back then. Using a wand, I mean,” he clarified quickly. “And it was still pretty amazing.” He stirred his tea. “He didn’t seem afraid at all, and he was already covered in blood before we even left.”

“I’m afraid your scale is insufficient, Mister Longbottom,” Severus answered, taking the mug Ron offered him. “I was nearly blinded.”


	19. Gryffindor Hell

“What’s up?” Bill asked as Harry stopped just outside the door to the Great Hall. The table they’d left was still within eyesight, and for a moment, Harry just looked back at Severus sitting with his friends. Scrutinizing the newspaper in between Ron and Hermione, with Neville and Charlie looking on. And then Severus looked up, his gaze focused like the sun through a magnifying glass.

 _I love you,_ Harry thought. 

“You know we broke into Gringotts to steal a Horcrux, right?” he began, tearing his eyes away to look at Bill. 

“Yeah,” Bill answered. “It was all over the Prophet. Not the Horcrux part, but Ron and Hermione filled me in. Amazing you three didn’t burn to death. The Lestrange’s vault is one of the oldest.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not that,” Harry continued. “I just… I found this ledger in Number Twelve. It’s charmed to keep track of all the activity in my account, and when I looked at the newest page, I saw this withdrawal. I guess they charged me for the damage I did to the vaults, and for the dragon we freed. Ten thousand Galleons.” 

Bill was appalled. “They charged you _ten thousand Galleons?”_ he demanded. “And they were protecting one of The Dark Lord’s bloody _Horcruxes?_ Where do they get off-”

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupted him. “It’s fine. I don’t care about the money. I have plenty. I just - I want you to check your family’s vault in case you have it, too. So I can pay it.”

“Harry,” Bill said, his frown folding and twisting the scars on his face. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do,” Harry said. “It was my idea to release that dragon, and it said _dragon_ on the fee. And I can afford to pay it, anyway.” He held up a hand when Bill tried to argue. “Just check, will you? And let me know what you find? Please.”

“I-”

 _“YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!”_ came a sudden bellowing voice from inside the hall. _“A GROWN MAN LIKE YOU, CONFUSING A TEENAGE BOY THAT WAY-”_

“Ah, _fuck!”_ Harry yelped, and sprinted back towards the table, where Ron, Hermione, Neville and Charlie were all leaning away from Severus with their ears covered.

_“HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT, YOU DISGUSTING, ABUSIVE PEDOPH-”_

“JESUS.” Harry skidded to a halt, panting, the Howler in Severus’ hands abruptly encased in a bubble of light. “Fucking - Howlers. God. Are you ok?” 

“I’m… fine,” Severus answered, and in the quiet that followed, Harry abruptly became aware that absolutely everyone in the hall was looking at them. There was no more chatter, no more laughter, no more clink of cutlery or china. Just silence, and _eyes,_ and he flushed, trying to think of something to say. But Ron beat him to it, and clapped Severus heartily on the back.

“Well, they sound jealous, don’t they?” he asked in a carrying, jovial voice, glaring once over his shoulder at the other tables. “Too bad none of these PRATS knows what _true love_ is, eh, SEVERUS? Ha ha. How SAD.” He poked at the ball imprisoning the Howler and returned his voice to a more normal volume. “Cool. Is that how Harry locked the Aurors in? The rest of your Howlers are over there, by the way.” He pointed to the far wall where there was a fresh box full of black smoke beside a new collection of Harry’s post. “Guess this one was late. OH! Speaking of arseholes not minding their own business, there are some letters to the editor in here. C’mon, Harry, come sit with your _disgusting, abusive pedophile._ Some of them are pretty good.”

“Not everyone appreciated Rita’s slander,” Hermione added, shooting Ron a look. “Particularly not the people who were actually _here fighting.”_ She eyed Bill speaking quietly into Charlie’s ear as Harry settled in beside Severus. “Everything alright?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill answered, straightening up. “Just a quick errand. We’ll be back before lunch, I expect.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Severus said, patted Harry’s knee, and turned back to the paper. “Let’s see.” He paged towards the back, passing an article about the staffing shortages at the Ministry, and an editorial supporting the use of Dementors for law enforcement while Harry looked over his arm. “Shall I do a dramatic reading? Save you the trouble of seeing anything rude?”

“Probably a good idea,” Harry answered, and sat back. “So I don’t… y’know.” He grimaced.

“Lee’s grandad is in there,” Ron said, pouring a cup of tea for Harry and spooning some sugar in. “You know, the bloke with that huge sword? You should read it for the table. It’s _fantastic._ A work of modern poetry!”

Severus skimmed a letter that contained the words _‘irredeemable’_ and _‘perverted,’_ and one that began with the phrase, _‘it makes me want to vomit,’_ and then found the byline, _‘Mr. Silas Jordan, 78, Devon.’_

He cleared his throat. _“‘The medi-wizard chasers at the Daily Prophet should hide their faces in shame for daring to spew such bile,’”_ he began. _“‘Not one of them was at the battle, but I was, so let me clear something up for everyone that’s swallowing the rubbish. I started Potterwatch with my grandson, and we all thought Snape was a Deatheater to the core. Used to insult him all the time. Called him names and such. Made fun of his hair. The listeners loved it. But now I know the TRUTH, and so should every reader of the Prophet. That man has the true heart of a warrior, and he has upheld a mighty and bloody legacy of Soldier-Headmasters! He deserves an Order of Merlin First Class for every Deatheater he put down, and if I was Rita Skeeter I would fear for my fingers. You civilians weren’t there. You didn’t see the carnage, and you didn’t see the MAGIC that came out of that boy. If Severus Snape or anyone else tried to make Harry Potter do anything he didn’t want to do, they’d be turned to paste. So get your head out of your [censored], you stupid, self-serving [censored] [censored].’’’_

Severus just stared down at that for a long moment. 

“Well,” he finally said. “Now I am unsure as to my own feelings.”

“Why?” Ron laughed. “You’ve the _true heart of a warrior!”_

“I wasn’t aware I was being mocked on the wireless, though, was I?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was pretty brutal.”

Severus just humphed and turned the page, scanning for familiar names. “Oh, how about this one?” he asked, and then chuckled. “What in Merlin’s name has become of my life?” He read: _“‘Whoever wrote that nasty story about Professor Snape has obviously never met him. Sure, he’s mean. Sure, he’s strict, and scary, and really super hard on you if you suck at potions. But I have never seen anything like the way he looks at Harry. The passion. The fire. The adoration! They’re in love, and they’re soulmates, and anyone that thinks differently should dig a ditch and lay in it.’ - Mandy Brocklehurst, 18, Cornwall.”_

“Mandy!” Harry gasped. 

“Lisa’s in there, too,” Ron said. “Royally _peeved.”_

“And Luna,” Neville added. 

“Read Luna’s!” Hermione said. 

“Be patient,” Severus answered. “Let’s see… Lovegood… Lovegood… aha. Oh. Hm.”

“Read it!”

“I’m… not sure it’s entirely english. Ahem. _‘I only read this paper because I found one in a bin and Harry was on the cover. But now that I have, I am writing to extend some advice to the author and staff. I’m afraid it’s critically important that you check yourselves into St. Mungo’s at once to be screened for Wrackspurt spawn and cerebral Snickerfrisks. Your offices are obviously infested. Either that or you should all be very embarrassed for being so judgmental and closed-minded. Anyone without a head full of Wittinspot Spores can see that Harry is not afraid of anyone, and certainly not Professor Snape, who is his devoted lover and has been for ages, and is definitely NOT controlling him. They have a [censored] [censored] bond. It’s very obvious. And they [censored] [censored] [censored]. You should really check yourselves into the hospital. - Luna Lovegood, 17, Devon.’_ My, that took a left turn there at the end.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Harry said. “What do you think she _wrote?_ A what bond? Jeez. Luna. And what are we doing that’s so _censored?”_

“That, my love, is not mealtime conversation,” Severus answered lightly, and pointed to a tureen of porridge. Harry nodded. 

“What are Wittinspot Spores?” Neville asked, watching as Severus ladled some out into a bowl. 

“I’ve no idea,” Severus answered, topping the porridge with a generous sprinkle of brown sugar, and then a drizzle of cream. “But apparently they breed homophobia.” He stuck a spoon in the bowl and set it in front of Harry. “And _closed-mindedness.”_

“Sounds dangerous,” Harry laughed, and tucked into his food.

_“That is unbelievable,”_ Neville whispered to Ron.

 _“Yeah,”_ Ron whispered back. _“Like anyone cares if two Wizards are together these days.”_

 _“No,”_ Neville said, and gestured at the porridge. _“That.”_

_“What, that? Oh, yeah, he does that now. I think Harry likes it.”_

“I can hear you,” Severus said, reaching for a platter of toast, but just then there was a whisper of wings, and he looked up. 

“Oh, no, not another _Howler,”_ Harry moaned around his mouthful, and swallowed. “Why can’t these people send their bullshit out on time?” 

But it was not a Howler. It was a scroll sealed with blue wax, borne by a very large and distinguished horned owl, and after an extravagant swoop around the perimeter of the hall, it fluttered directly down to Severus.

“That certainly didn’t take long,” Severus said as the great bird unhooked its talons from it’s burden, blinked its orange eyes, and departed. “I suppose they didn’t feel the need to deliberate much.” He cracked the seal and unfurled it, and a second, smaller piece of parchment slipped out. 

“Ministry?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. 

“Yes, our plea deal,” Severus answered, scanned the second letter, and laughed. “And this is straight from the Minister himself. How gracious.” He handed it to Harry.

“What, to me?” Harry asked, looking down at Kingsley’s fine handwriting.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _Plain english. No ‘legal bullshit.’_
> 
> _The Wizengamot accepts your terms. No free-legilimency - you will have a week to submit your memories - and the Malfoys can stay with you once you sign the document that I assume Severus is reading right now. Immunity for Severus, and for you (obviously), in exchange for your testimony. As for your presence at all the hearings, Raif, the Chief Warlock, seemed rather excited by that prospect. I’d bring a quill for autographs, if I were you. I might caution you against showing up with any marks, though. No need to unnecessarily rustle anyone’s feathers._
> 
> _Give my best to Severus,_
> 
> _Kingsley_

“Damn,” Ron said, reading over his shoulder. “Kingsley knows what you’re into.”

“What does the official one say?” Hermione asked. 

“The same,” Severus answered. “Just… opaque language.”

“What the heck does _‘ratio decidendi’_ mean?” Ron asked, turning his attention to the legally-binding version. “Sounds like maths or something. _Descending ratio._ One half. One quarter. One _eighth-”_ Hermione interrupted him.

“It means _‘the reason for this decision.’”_

“Well why the fuck can’t they just write that?”

“It’s just the way it’s done!”

“Well it’s _silly.”_

“It is a bit silly,” Neville agreed. 

“Or _underhanded,”_ Ron added, wiggling his fingers seriously. _“Obfuscation,_ you know. Ministry _tomfoolery.”_

Severus ignored him and turned to Harry. “The Malfoys need to sign this. Shall I go? Shouldn’t take five minutes.”

Harry squinted at the impenetrable _Ministry tomfoolery._ He didn’t really like the part about submitting memories, but there wasn’t really any way around that. “Nothing weird in there?”

“Not that I can detect, no.”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry sighed. “Suppose we have to trust someone, right? May as well be Kingsley. You wanna go now? You can ask Draco if he needs anything except his trunk.”

“I shall,” Severus said, rolled up the scroll, and kissed Harry’s forehead. “Go on.”

He vanished.

“MERLIN’S HOLEY DRAWERS,” Neville gasped. “THAT IS NOT A THING THAT YOU CAN DO.”

“Haaa,” Ron said. “Sending people, now, are you? Excellent.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I did the head of the DMLE. He made a noise kind of like a startled sheep.” He looked at Hermione, who was gaping at Severus’ empty seat. “Sorry,” he said.

“For… what?” Hermione asked back in a small voice. 

“Y’know…” Harry stirred his porridge, swirling the dissolved sugar into streaks. “For violating… your books… and stuff.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, and then chuckled. “The exception proves the rule, and all that. Haha. Ha.” Ron wrapped an arm around her.

“It’s ok, luv,” he said. “Don’t you remember that time Harry DIED but then he WASN’T DEAD? What’s a little bizarre by-proxy apparition next to that?”

“How do you bring him back?” Neville asked.

“Bracelet.” Harry raised his arm, and there was a silence.

“So…” Neville began slowly. “... I have a question.”

“Yes he was doing that all sixth year,” Ron answered, taking a sedate sip of his tea. “Yes he was.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask!”

“What, then?” 

“I-” Neville began, but broke off with a frown. “I’ve no idea, actually.” 

“Just _WHY,_ eh?” Ron laughed. “You get used to it, mate. Believe me. You get used to it.” He sighed and put his hands behind his head. “Must be his food.”

“It’s not his _food,”_ Hermione scoffed. “But it’s not the reasons in the Prophet, either.”

“Well, yeah, I gathered that. Harry doesn’t seem very enchantable, does he?”

“I’m _right here,”_ Harry said, but then looked down at his bracelet. “Oh, that was quick.” He closed his fingers around it, and Severus reappeared without a whisper of sound. Neville jolted back.

“FUCKing-” He pinwheeled his arms, and Ron seized his collar to keep him from pitching backwards off the bench. 

“Easy,” Ron said. “Welcome to Harry Potter Land. No concussions, yeah?”

“My apologies,” Severus said, retaking his seat and laying the scroll back on the table. “Kreacher says hello, and wants to know if you prefer pajamas or nightshirts.”

“Oh…” Harry began. “I, uh…”

“I told him pajamas,” Severus continued with a little twitch of his lips. “Now, shall we?”

He spread the contract out flat, and Harry conjured an inked quill, and they signed. First Harry, and then Severus, and just as he lifted the nib, the scroll vanished and was replaced almost instantly with a freshly sealed copy. That one contained a restating of the terms, including the deadline for submitting memories to the court, along with an additional four names, three of which were followed by signatures. _Kingsley Shaklebolt, Minister of Magic,_ had signed, and so had _Raif Terrence Sullivan Vokes McGillan, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot._ Beneath that was the signature-less, _Gregory Cephous Philip Wagner Gareg the Fourth, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,_ stamped with the word _recused_ in black ink, and finally, _Gwyneth Torbett-Lancaster, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,_ with her signature, angular, firm, and clear.

“My, my,” Severus said, pointing to Gregory’s name. “He recused himself.”

“What’s that mean?” Harry asked. 

“It means he was very angry and embarrassed and he wants nothing more to do with us,” Severus answered, setting the scroll aside. 

“Who ‘he?’” Neville asked. 

“That’s the startled sheep bloke,” Harry answered. “He arrested Severus during the first war and was a real prick about it.” He traced a forked line across his own face. “Got a souvenir for his trouble, though. Real improvement.”

“Hm.” Neville gave Severus an appraising look. “You probably shouldn’t have been a teacher.”

“No,” Severus agreed, setting about buttering some toast for himself. “I don’t think so either.”

“What about us?” Ron asked. 

“What about you?” Harry asked back.

“Well…” Ron looked at Hermione. “We can testify, can’t we? Or submit memories? Malfoy might be a prat, but I don’t want him to go to Azkaban. Especially not after… all that other stuff. Seems like he deserves… you know. A break.” 

“Yes, he certainly does,” Hermione added. “He saved my life, and we saw all kinds of things, didn’t we? We’re witnesses.”

“Maybe you’ll be called to testify,” Harry said. “I’m not sure how it works. I’ve only been at one Wizengamot trial, and I was the accused.”

“What trial?” Severus asked.

“Underaged magic,” Harry said. “It was pretty bad. They changed the date, time, _and_ place, and Mr. Weasley had to send me in alone. Dumbeldore came at the last second, though. Brought Mrs. Figg too. Fudge didn’t like that very much.”

“They give you a _criminal trial_ for underaged magic?” Severus asked. “Why?”

“‘Cause the Ministry is full of knobheads,” Ron answered. “Treated him like a bloody serial killer, didn’t they? Bastards.”

“They wanted to scare him,” Hermione said. “And they succeeded. He got an expulsion letter and everything. We were _terrified.”_

“Oh. Yes, I did hear about that. Albus was not pleased.”

“Dementors,” Harry scoffed. “I _hate_ Dementors. AND!” He slammed his spoon down in sudden indignation. “Turned out it was _Umbridge_ who sent them after me! Dementors in Little Whinging! Who does that? Mad _cunt.”_

“She _is_ a mad cunt,” Ron agreed. “Sadistic.” He shook his head. “Can’t believe she’s still working at the Ministry.”

“She’s _what?”_ Severus and Harry demanded at the same moment and in the exact same tone, and Neville started giggling, but then tried to pass it off as a coughing fit. They ignored him. “What do you mean she’s still at the Ministry?” Severus continued. “She can’t be. She was _running_ the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. She’s a fascist!”

“I dunno…” Ron said uncomfortably. “My dad said so. Said she’s moved to Administration now that the MBRC is dissolved.” He leaned slightly away from Severus’ expression. “Er…”

“Apparently she was under the _Imperius,”_ Hermione added tartly, stabbing at a bit of fried potato with her fork. “Lying toad.”

“The _Imperius!”_ Harry spat. “What, is that what fucking everyone says? Oh, I’m not responsible. I was under the _Imperius._ Totally innocent victim of dark magic. Like she was under the Imperius when she was here at school making everyone’s life a living hell! Treating Hagrid like a wild animal and terrorizing every-” His empty bowl started to vibrate so violently that it juttered across the table and knocked against a tray of bacon. The clatter got his attention. “Oh. Shit-” He pressed one hand flat against his chest, hunching his shoulders forward and scrunching up his face. The bowl settled down. “Sorry.” He exhaled with a little grimace. “Jeez. Is it always gonna hurt like that?”

“I’ve no idea,” Severus answered. “It’s not getting worse, is it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What?” Hermione asked. “What’s hurting?”

Harry scowled, rubbing at his sternum. “It’s my stupid magic. Burns when I don’t let it do whatever it wants.”

“Yes, we’ve acquired a new critically important pet project,” Severus added, and proceeded to give Hermione an abbreviated explanation of Harry’s magical outbursts, and what they were trying to do to control them, which Hermione unsurprisingly found fascinating. So while Harry sipped at his tea, trying to soothe the uncomfortable scalding sensation under his ribcage, he listened as the two of them launched into a discussion of the fundamental tenets of magic, and which of them he was violating, and what that might mean. He didn’t follow very much of it, although they did ask him to make an apple at one point, which he did, and Ron laughed and made some comment about how useful that would have been while they were starving to death, and then switched seats with Hermione rather than continue being talked across. 

“Soooo…” he said, while Severus scratched out some sort of diagram on a bit of parchment and Hermione pointed at it. “You’ve excited the intellectuals.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “I do that. Too much magic in tiny Harry Potter.”

“You’re _medium sized,”_ Ron laughed. “Or… maybe… small. Not _tiny_ though.”

“Ha.”

Ron glanced at Hermione and Severus, and then at Neville who had joined in their conversation with the truly brilliant interjection, _‘what?’_

“Well, since they’re busy… I’ve got something for you.” He rummaged in his pockets, finally withdrawing a cream-colored envelope. “It’s from my mum. I told her about all the mail you’re getting, so she just gave it to me instead of owling it. So it doesn’t end up in the crate, you know. Here.” He handed it over.

“Th-” 

The word _thanks_ lodged in Harry’s throat like a stone.

“It’s nothing bad,” Ron added quickly. “It’s just…” he cleared his throat. “Just, um… your invitation. To the funeral.”

Harry blinked the heat back from his eyes, momentarily unable to speak. But it wasn’t fear that had squeezed his heart so suddenly in his chest, nor was it the idea of Fred’s funeral, though that was indeed an awful thought. No, it was just the way the letter was addressed. For there, front and center, in Mrs. Weasley’s familiar handwriting, were the words _‘To: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hogwarts School.’ _

He touched the ‘&’ with the pad of one finger. 

“She’s-” He swallowed. “She’s not…?”

“Upset about the Prophet?” Ron supplied, shifting a little in his seat.

_“And he sucked it back in?”_ Hermione demanded. _“How?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Severus answered. _“He called himself a ‘magic hoover.’”_

“She was, for a while,” Ron continued. “Tried to apparate to school and everything, but we talked her down. Reminded her of what Rita said about Hermione and all… and what she said about you, before. And how it was all rubbish and lies. I got a bit… heated about it. Remember how she treated Hermione when she thought she was fooling around on you? She overreacts, you know. Bill took her back inside and talked to her for a long time, too. Not sure what he said, but then… she gave me that.” He scratched his head awkwardly. “So, gonna open it?”

Harry just nodded and slid one finger under the flap, a little afraid. But there was nothing too long or complicated inside. Just the date and time of Fred Weasley’s celebration of life, beneath a laughing photo. Friday the eighth of May, at eleven am, to be followed by a reception.

“So, uh… do you think you can come?” Ron asked when Harry didn’t say anything right away. “I told her you might not be able to. If you were… you know… busy, or…”

“Of course,” Harry answered. “Of course we’ll come.” He tapped Severus on the shoulder. “Hey. Hey! Stop teaching a class. You quit.”

“What?” Severus asked, his eyes alight with magical theory. “I - oh. Are you finished eating?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “What day is it?”

“Today? The sixth. Wednesday.” Harry passed him the invitation, and he scanned it, his expression neutralizing. “Well,” he began carefully. “I suppose… the Weasleys will escort you.”

“The Weasleys?” Harry asked, momentarily mystified. But then Severus looked up at him, and he understood. “Oh, no. Not just me. Sorry. Here.” He handed the envelope over too, and Severus reacted just the same way he had, right down to touching the little ampersand with his finger. 

“Oh,” he said. “I - oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, and bumped his head gently against Severus’ shoulder. “Package deal.” He sat up straight again. “Well. We should probably get Draco’s stuff and get going now that we’ve all signed.”

“Right!” Ron said. “Back to R.A.B.’s place! Can we help?” Severus looked critically at him, and he laughed. “Yeah, it is just because I want to see your rooms. _Obviously._ Bet everything’s covered in snakes.”

Severus looked heavenward. “If you _insist.”_

“I _do,”_ Ron answered loftily, and stood. “See ya Neville!” 

They stopped over in the Slytherin dorms to retrieve Draco’s trunk on the way down. It was already quite neatly packed, and Severus tucked the single loose pair of robes inside and shrank it down before handing it to Harry to put in his back pocket. 

“He didn’t ask for anything else?” Harry asked, but Draco hadn’t, and they continued further and further into the bowels of the school, all the way down until they reached the final passageway, and its forbidding serpentine sconces. 

“Knew it,” Ron scoffed, and Severus opened the door with a little bow. 

“Please,” he intoned, gesturing them inside like a butler. “Make yourselves at home, Gryffindors.”

“Alright, Harry,” Ron said, clapping his hands together while Hermione walked directly over to the bookshelves like they were magnetic. “Show me your separate room. If you’re not a _filthy liar_ you should have a _separate room_ where Snape _definitely wasn’t sleeping.”_

“Fuck _off,”_ Harry retorted, and dragged Ron over to the far door. “There’s a _Gryffindor bedspread_ and _everything.”_

Severus just rolled his eyes at the pair of them and moved to stand beside Hermione. “See anything you’d like to borrow?” he asked, and she jumped. “Some of these are quite rare.” 

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, flustered. “I didn’t mean to- um. Snoop. Or-”

“Miss Granger,” Severus interrupted. “As I seem to have inherited you as a friend, it should be safe to relax while in my field of vision.” She blushed, but then laughed.

“Ron tells me to relax all the time,” she said, and touched the spine of one of the books. _“Awakening the Forgotten,_ by Archibald Loughty,” she read. “I’ve seen this referenced.” 

“An excellent choice for any connoisseur of history,” Severus answered, sliding it free and handing it to her. “Quite old, and very out of print. Reference is usually all you’ll find.” 

“Wow.” She brushed her fingertips over the inlaid gold lettering. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Severus answered. “But I might ask for something in return.”

She looked up. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing terribly onerous. Harry’s just given me the impression that you have Rita Skeeter’s address.”

“Alright, so you tell me something,” Ron said, bouncing back onto the little bed and releasing a cloud of dust into the air. “Did _Severus Snape_ decorate this red and gold explosion?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I think he wanted to remind me that I was a student and not to be climbing him like a tree.” Ron inhaled a lungful of dust and started hacking. “Oh, you can dish it out but not take it, is that it?” Harry laughed, dispelled the dust with a wave, and then sat beside him and waited for him to control himself. “I slept here about four times.”

“Ack,” Ron gasped, wiping his eyes. “Ahem. Well. It’s nice. Better than the dorms, anyway. Unless Snape snores. Does he snore?”

“No.”

“That’s good. Bet it would be loud if he did.” Ron brushed his palm thoughtfully over the lion embroidered underneath him. Then he chuckled, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HEY, _SEVERUS!”_ he called.

 _“What?”_ came Severus’ annoyed voice from the other room. 

“LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO YOURSELF,” Ron continued in a bellow. “GRYFFINDORS EVERYWHERE FOREVER! HA HA HA. THERE’S NO ESCAPE!”

_“Harry was almost a Slytherin. And stop shouting.”_

“WHAT?” Ron demanded, and then looked at Harry. “What?”

“Oh, yeah…” Harry said, and ruffled his own hair. “Hat said so. But I wanted to stay with you, and everyone said Slytherins were evil, so… I guess it lets you choose, if you really want to.”

For a moment Ron just squinted at him, but then he flopped back onto the bed. “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” he said to the ceiling. “You sneaky, sneaky bastard. Coming down here, creeping around in the middle of the night…” He sighed, and then sat back up. “Well, shall we pack? Bet you've got a TON of stuff in Snape’s closet. All your _Y-fronts,_ eh?” He poked at Harry’s side. “Unless they’re all _torn.”_

“Oh for god’s sake. _Stop.”_

***

Severus set himself to drafting his official resignation while Hermione minimized his books, and Harry and Ron gathered Harry’s things into his little drawstring bag. There wasn’t much. Just his mother’s letters, Severus’ old copy of Advanced Potions Making, his mokeskin pouch, and his paltry collection of clothes, and that was all. It hardly took Severus ten minutes to write and seal his letter, but even so, all of Harry’s worldly possessions were neatly stowed by the time he was done. It pulled Severus’ heartstrings to see how very little he owned, and always had, but the feeling was even stronger now that he knew about Harry’s vault. Harry was wealthy by anyone’s standards, and yet did not seem ever to consider that he could buy things for himself. He still wore the same overlarge or damaged clothing, and the same scuffed trainers, and asked for nothing at all. Hadn’t _ever_ asked for anything that could be purchased, now that Severus thought about it. He supposed that was the sort of way you learned to live when you were kept in a cupboard. Not that Severus tended to bury himself in worldly pleasures, either, of course. He’d lived a relatively ascetic life, save for one very specific indulgence. And that indulgence was, at that moment, gazing at the bookshelves with a glazed expression like he was remembering being pinned to them. And then Harry’s mouth twisted up into a very tiny, very wicked grin, and he touched his bracelet, and Severus looked down to see that he’d been spot on in his evaluation of that expression.

 _[You’ll never fuck me against these bookcases again]_ appeared. _[Sad]_

Severus stepped up behind him and laid one palm on his lower back. “Do you think the library at Grimmauld Place will be able to accommodate my collection?” he asked. “I do hope the shelves are strong enough.” Harry let out a single bark of laughter.

“Sna- um. Severus?” Hermione asked, her face buried in yet another book she was supposed to be shrinking. 

“Yes?”

“Can I borrow this one, too?”

“Oi! This chess set is amazing!” Ron broke in, inspecting a red, glossy queen. “What are these, rubies? This must have cost hundreds of Galleons!”

“Be careful with that,” Severus answered. “Harry made it.”

“Oh. _Cool._ OUCH! What is that, a _cactus?_ Why do you have a cactus? Ooh, what’s this?”

Severus sighed as Ron started messing with a selection of skulls. “Remind me again why I let your friends in here,” he muttered.

“Cuz you’re indulgent and you love Gryffindors,” Harry muttered back. “Just _mad_ about Gryffindors.”

Severus snorted, and when Ron picked up his little stone snake, snatched it back from him. “Give me that! It’s fragile.” 

Packing seventeen years of Severus’ life into a series of trunks did not take quite as long as he might have thought, and even with the many distractions, his rooms were reduced to the austerity of a hostel in relatively short order. So, Severus gave his resignation to Hermione to deliver to Minerva, and folded up his letter regarding Draco’s treachery, and then remembered the Elder Wand. It had rolled beneath his bedside table, and he fished it out and stuck it in his boot for safekeeping. He wasn’t sure yet what he would do with it, but he didn’t particularly like the way the Head of Auror Personnel had known to ask him about it. It seemed to imply that his status as Master of the Elder Wand was common knowledge, which Hermione confirmed when he mentioned it. Apparently it had been in the Prophet the morning after the battle, and that, he liked even less. He’d have to get rid of it somehow. And publicly, too. But that was to be dealt with when an opportunity presented itself, as it surely would. If there was one thing they would likely never have to pursue again, it was publicity.

But for now, his things were packed and minimized, and Harry’s hand was warm in his own, and that was it. It was time to go. 

With one last scan for overlooked possessions, he turned away from his empty rooms and towards Harry’s friends. 

“I thank you for your warm welcome to Gryffindor Hell,” he said. 

  
  
  


End of Part 5

(art to follow)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!! and stay tuned for:
> 
> PACIFY PART 6: STILL
> 
> Pls subscribe to this part if you'd like notifications for bonus art pages, of which there will be several, and as always thank you so much for commenting. Comments fill my brain with dopamine.
> 
> P.S. if you'd like to see bonuses and extra art and awesome fan works, come join the discord!  
> https://discord.gg/Gg59qfh
> 
> P.P.S. If you were hoping for this to end with SMUT - part 6 opens with smut. See you soon!
> 
> Chicken


	20. Bonus Art Page 1: Blind

5.12: Copper and Salt

“What did you-” 

Severus slapped him again, snapping his head to the side, and then turned his face back to center and took hold of his throat. His pulse was absolutely racing. Severus could feel it against his fingers like a startled bird.

“I blinded you,” he said. “What color is that?” Harry, his sightless eyes wide, didn’t move or respond at all, and Severus tightened his fingers. “Color, Potter,” he demanded again, and when Harry finally raised one unsteady hand and produced green, jerked him down onto his knees.


	21. Bonus Art Page 2: Two very heterosexual individuals

"No mutual attraction. A mentorship, you know. Fatherly. Nothing at all to worry about.”


	22. Bonus Art Page 3: "Too Sore?"

Severus held his head to the bed. “Focus,” he demanded. “Am I hurting you?”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 6 will start posting v soon

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End file.
